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BALLADS    AND    LYRICS 


BY 


CHARLES    MACKAY, 


INCLUDING 


^Legends  of  the  Mes,-*^  ^^ Ballads  and  Lyrical  Poems r  ^^ Voices 

from  the  Mountains r*  ''Voices  from  the  Crowd.'' 

and  ''Town  Lyrics V 


Miih  |Utt«tratiflns  bjr  |o^  mhtti. 


LONDON: 
ROUTLEDGE,  WARNE,   &   ROUTLEDGE, 

FAKRINGDON  STREET  j 

NEW    YORK:    56,    WALKER    STREET. 

1859. 


f^2 
ADVERTISEMENT.    Jr 


This  Collection  includes  the  "  Legends  of  the  Isles," 
illustrative  of  the  romantic  scenery  and  history  of  the 
Hebrides,  and  the  adjoining  mainland  of  Scotland, 
originally  published  at  Edinburgh  in  the  year  1845  ; 
the  "Ballads  and  Lyrical  Poems,"  issued  in  the  same 
year ;  three  smaller  volumes,  published  in  London 
at  intervals  from  1846  to  1849,  under  the  titles  of 
"  Voices  from  the  Mountains,"  "  Voices  from  the 
Crowd,"  and  "Town  Lyrics."  The  Author  has  re- 
vised and  corrected  these  volumes  for  the  present 
edition,  and  redistributed  under  these  several  head- 
ings the  several  poems  originally  published.  Some 
pieces  have  been  omitted  which  either  seemed  to  be 
of  temporary  interest,  or  to  be  otherwise  unsuited 
for  republication ;  and  others  have  been  added  from 
the  sources  where  they  were  first  published. 


953014 


CONTENTS. 


f tpJts  at  i\t  Isles  anb  figljlanlt  iatljOTiigs. 


The  Highland  Eamble 1 

The  Sea-King's  Burial   11 

The  Dance  of  Ballochroy  ..  20 
St.  Columba ;  or,  the  Count- 
ing of  the  Isles    33 

The   **  Dream,"  by  Beauly, 

Eoss-shire   41 

The  Invasion  of  the  Norse- 
men    45 

The  Eve  of  Flodden  57 

Lord  Nithsdale's  Dream  in 

the  Tower  of  London ....  68 


Page 

The  Kelpie  of  Corryvreckan  63 

The  Shoal  of  Whales 73 

The  Witch  of  Skerrievore  . .  80 
The  Burn  of  Aberiachan  . .  84 
The  Wraith  of  Garry  Water  88 

The  King's  Son 95 

The  Lady  of  Duart's  Ven- 
geance   104 

The  Bridge  of  Glen  Aray  . .  109 
The  Planting  of  the  Acorns  115 

The  Fall  of  Foyers 119 

Foyers  before  the  Fall    120 


§allaljs  anl>  f  grital  |Mns. 


The  Old  and  the  New 1 

The  Coming  Time 13 

Tubal  Cain 14 

The  Founding  of  the  Bell  . .  16 

Life's  Companions 20 

Castles  in  the  Air 23 


A  Candid  Wooing 26 

The  Voice  of  the  Time 27 

The  Cry  of  the  People— 1845  30 

A  Lover's  Logic 34 

Real  and  Ideal    35 

Head  and  Heart . , 44 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Little  Fools  and  Great  Ones  47 

Lost  and  Won 49 

The  Death  of  Pan 52 

Love  Aweary  of  the  World  55 
The  Lover's  Second  Thoughts 

on  World- Weariness  ....    57 

The  Drop  of  Water    59 

The  Dionysia,  or  Festivals  of 

Bacchus    65 

Young  Genius 69 

The  Vision  of  Danton    75 

Good-Night 79 

Good-Morrow 80 

A  Sonff  after  a  Toast 81 


Pcujc 

My  Playfellow 82 

Love  in  Hate 84 

Lady  Jane 86 

The  Praise  of  Women    89 

Serenity    90 

The  Building  of  the  House     91 
The    History  of  a   Pair    of 

Eyes 95 

Ninette 99 

The  Quarrel 101 

The  Bridge 104 

The  Two  Nightingales   105 

The  Wanderers  by  the  Sea    109 
A  Traveller's  Tale 113 


Mm  frmit  %  ||;0ttntams. 


Mountain  Streams 1 

Melodies  and  Mysteries. ...  4 
The  Man  in  the  Dead  Sea  . .      6 

The  Follower 15 

We    are    Wiser     than    we 

Know    20 

The  Child  and  the  Mourners  22 

The  Water  Tarantella    25 

The  Earth  and  the  Stars    . .    30 

The  Young  Earth 32 

The  Golden  Madness 37 

The  Out-Comer  and  the  In- 

Goer 41 

The  Drop  of  Ambrosia  ....  46 
Now .• 49 


The  Vision  of  Mockery  ....    52 
The  King  and  the  Nightin- 
gales     61 

Evermore — Nevermore  ....    65 

The  True  Companion 67 

Welcome  Back    Q% 

A  Lover's  Fancies 70 

The  Nine  Bathers 71 

Two  Mysteries 77 

The  Confession  of  Ahasuerus  78 
A  Reverie  in  the  Grass  ....    88 

Love  or  Wisdom 92 

Follow  your  Leader    95 

The  Death  Banquet  of  the 
Girondins 98 


CONTENTS. 


Vll 


Wim  fxam  llje  Cwtoir  anJr  f  0ton  f  grits. 


The  Watcher  on  the  Tower  1 

Clear  the  Way 4 

The  Good  Time  Coming. ...  6 

The  Wants  of  the  People  ..  9 

The  Three  Preachers 11 

Old  Opinions    14 

Daily  Work 17 

An  Emigrant's  Blessing. ...  19 

Railways 21 

The  Fermentation 23 

The  Poor  Man'sSunday  Walk  26 

A  Welcome  to  Louis  Philippe  29 

The  Dream  of  the  Reveller. .  32 
The  Poet  and  the  Political 

Economist    36 

To  a  Friend  afraid  of  Critics  40 

British  Freedom 44 

The  Dying  Mother 46 

Freedom  and  Law 49 

To  Impatient  Genius 54 

Tlie  Golden  City 56 


Page 
The  Deposition  of  King  Clog  60 

Street  Companions 64 

The  Light  in  the  Window. .    67 

Mary  and  Lady  Mary    71 

Above  and  Below   75 

John  Littlejohn 77 

The  Poor  Man's  Bird 80 

Unknown  Romances 8^ 

The  Floating  Straw    84 

A  Question  Answered   ....    86 

What  might  be  Done 88 

The  Mowers    90 

Said  I  to  Myself,  said  I 94 

An  Appeal  to  Paris    98 

Thoughts 101 

Cleon  and  1 102 

The  Phantoms  of  St.  Sepul- 
chre   104 

The  Little  Moles 110 

Let  us  alone 113 

Eternal  Justice    116 


W^QtixjUB  d  tl^t  Islts,  f r. 


PROLOGUE. 


THE  HIGHLAND  RAMBLE. 

"  We  tliree  are  young  :  we  have  a  month  to  spare  ; 

Money  enough  ;  and,  whistling  off  our  care, 

We  can  forsake  the  turmoil  of  the  town, 

And  tread  the  wilds — making  our  faces  brown 

With  sunshine,  on  the  peaks  of  some  high  Ben. 

Let  us  away, — three  glad,  unburden'd  men — 

And  trace  some  mountain-torrent  to  its  source, 

'Mid  fern  and  heather,  juniper  and  gorse, 

Braving  all  weathers.     I,  with  gun,  one  day 

Will  cater  for  you,  and  go  forth  to  slay 

The  grouse  in  corries,  where  they  love  to  dwell ; 

Or  sit  with  you  upon  some  granite  fell, 

And  talk  for  hours  of  high  philosophy, 

Or  sun  ourselves  in  warmth  of  poesy  : 

And  should  these  tire,  with  rod  in  hand,  we'll  go 

To  streams  that  leap — too  frolicsome  to  flow — 

Angling  for  trout,  and  catch  them  by  themselves, 

In  fancied  citadel,  beneath  the  shelves 


2      '.  /■  c  c  :^  \  :  lJegends  of  the  isles. 

Of  slippery  GtOi>e,  o'er  which  the  waters  rush. 
'C(^t  ris  p.waj.     My '  cheeks  and  forehead  flush 
At  the  mere  thought ;    so  glad  would  be  mj  soi 
To  be  alone  wdth  Nature  for  one  whole 
'[Jntrammeird  month — havhig  no  thought  of  dross^^ 
Or  dull  entanglements  of  gain  and  loss  ; 
Of  Blackstone  drear,  or  Barnewall's  Reports, 
Or  aught  that  smells  of  lawyers  and  the  courts. 
Let  us  away,  this  pleasant  summer  time, 
Thou,    Karl,    canst    muse,    and    shape    the    tuneful 

rhyme 
Amidst  thy  well-beloved  hills  and  straths  : 
Thou,  Patrick,  canst  ascend  the  mountain-paths, 
Thy  well-fiird  flask  in  pocket,  and  rehearse 
Plain  prose  with  me,  as  genial  as  his  verse  ; 
And  wet  or  whet  each  argumental  flaw 
With  running  waters  dash'd  wuth  usquebaugh." 

Thus  Alistor,  a  Templar  keen  and  young, 
Of  a  clear  head,  and  of  a  fluent  tongue, — 
Subtle  logician,  but  with  earnest  mind, 
And  heart  brimful  of  hope  for  human  kind. 
Spake  to  his  friends  ;  and  him,  with  voice  of  cheer. 
Answer  d  the  rhymer  :    "  Half  one  toilsome  year 
Pve  moil'd  in  cities,  and,  like  thee,  I  long 
To  see  the  placid  lochs,  the  torrents  strong, 
The  purple  moors,  the  white  rocks  crimson-crown'd, 
And  amber  waters,  in  their  depths  embrown'd. 
One  month  of  freedom  from  the  drowsy  thrall 
Of  custom,  would  be  health,  joy,  wisdom,  all, 
To  us  who  know  each  other,  and  dehghfc 
To  be  let  loose  into  the  infinite 


THE   HIGHLAND    RAMBLE.  6 

■  our  own  fancies — free  from   task  and  rule, 
d  all  the  stiff  conventions  of  the  school 
^x  ^the  great  world.     Our  tyrant,  lean-faced  Care, 
S  lall  not  pursue  us  to  the  mountain  air. 
It  we  play  truant.     Let  us  hence  away, 
And  have  one  month  of  pleasure  while  we  may." 

Patrick,  the  rough  in  speech,  the  true  in  heart, 
A  sculptor,  born  to  elevate  his  art, 
And  loving  it  with  fervour  such  as  burn'd 
In  old  Pygmalion's  spirit,  when  he  yearn'd 
For  the  sweet  image  that  his  hands  had  made, 
Shouted    consent.       "  But    whither    bound  V    he 

said  ; 
"  What  far-off  mountain  summit  shall  we  scale  ? 
What  salt-sea  loch,  winding  through  many  a  vale, 
Shall  we  explore,  or  shall  we  rather  glide 
Through  lakes  inland,  unruffled  by  a  tide? — 
Not  that  it  matters.     Thou,  friend  poet,  know'st 
Better  than  we  all  grandeurs  of  the  coast  : 
The  lochs,  the  straths,  the  hoary-headed  Bens, 
The  windy  corries,  and  the  wild  green  glens. 
And  all  the  thunderous  waterfalls  that  leap 
Betwixt  the  Atlantic  and  the  German  deep ; 
And  we  will  follow,  if  our  guide  thou'lt  be, 
By  Lomond,  Linnhe,  Lochy,  or  Maree  ; 
Through  Boss-shire  moors,  to  Hebridean  isle, 
Or  'mid  the  lordly  mountains  of  Argyll, 
W;  ere'er  thou  wilt."     The  poet  made  reply, 
W''h  a  keen  pleasure  sparkling  in  his  eye  : 
"  Tliere  is  a  valley,  beautifully  lone, 
Bude  of  access,  to  few  but  hunters  known : 
B  2 


4  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

A  glen  so  full  of  gray  magnificence, 

Of  rock  and  mountain,  that  with  love  intense, 

Salvator's  self,  if  thither  he  had  stray'd, 

Might,  rapture-struck,  a  dwelling-place  have  made' 

Of  some  wild  nook.     There,  fill'd  with  ecstasies, 

He  might  have  sat,  his  spirit  in  his  eyes. 

And  all  his  mind  impregnate,  till  he  wrought 

On  the  dumb  canvas  an  immortal  thought. 

But  not  all  rude  and  gloomy  is  the  vale  : 

Ye  wild-thyme  odours,  floating  on  the  gale  ; 

Ye  tufts  of  heather,  blooming  on  the  slopes  ; 

Ye  birch-trees,  waving  from  the  rocky  copes 

Of  many  a  hill,  your  brows  festoon'd  in  braids, 

Or  drooping,  like  the  locks  of  love-lorn  maids  ; 

Ye  dark-green  pines  ;   ye  larches,  fan-like  spread ; 

And  ye,  witch-scaring  rowans,  gleaming  red  j 

Ye  flowers  innumerous,  earth-jewels  fair. 

That  lift  your  eyelids  to  the  morning  air ; 

And  all  ye  torrents,  that  with  eloquent  voice 

Call  on  the  mountain  echoes  to  rejoice. 

And  sing,  amid  the  wilderness,  a  song 

Of  jubilant  gladness,  when  the  floods  are  strong  ; 

Attest  the  wild  luxuriance  of  the  scene 

That  lengthening  spreads  (with  many  a  strath  between. 

And  purple  moorland,  haunt  of  birds  and  bees) 

Around  the  fern- clad  feet  and  shaggy  knees 

Of  mighty  Nevis !    monarch  of  the  hills. 

The  paramount  of  mountains,  gemm'd  with  rills, 

Scantily  robed,  his  Titan-shoulders  nude, 

Lifting  his  head  in  royal  solitude 

Above  his  peers,  and  grimly  looking  down 

Over  all  Britain  from  his  misty  crown  ! " 


THE   HIGHLAND   RAMBLE.  O 

Thus  spake  the  rhymer ;  and  between  them  three 
Was  made  a  binding  compact,  suddenly, 
That  they  should  waken  with  the  morning  sun. 
And  journey  northwards.     As  was  said,  was  done. 
Borne  on  the  wings  of  steam  ten  leagues  an  hour, 
They  call'd  it  slow,  but  bless'd  its  mighty  power ; 
And  thought  awhile,  in  pensive  wonder  dumb, 
Of  greater  triumphs  in  the  days  to  come  ; 
When  Distance, — dim  tradition  of  the  Past, 
Worn-out  idea,  too  absurd  to  last, — 
Should  bar  no  more  the  enterprise  of  man, 
ISTor  Time  compress  his  efforts  to  a  span ; 
When  docile  lightnings,  tether'd  to  a  wire. 
Should  turn  to  messengers  at  his  desire, 
And  bearing  thoughts  from  Europe  to  Cathay, 
Start  at  the  dawning,  and  return  ere  day : 
And  of  the  social  evils  that  should  cease 
In  the  new  age  of  intercourse  and  peace  ; 
When  War,  old  tyrant,  bloody-faced  and  pale. 
Should  yield  his  breath,  run  over  on  the  rail ; — 
Crush'd  by  the  car  of  Steam,  no  more  to  rise. 
To  fill  the  world  with  tears  and  agonies. 

Short  was  their  stay,  nor  turn'd  they  ev'n  aside 
To  view  the  mighty  city  of  the  Clyde, 
The  great  metropolis  of  plodding  folk. 
Tall  chimneys,  cotton,  enterprise,  and  smoke ; 
But  bound  for  Crinan  while  the  morn  was  new, 
Bade  to  the  lovely  Firth  a  fond  adieu. 

Clear  was  the  sky ;   the  sea  reflected  back 
The  morning  lustre,  as  they  held  their  track 


6  LEGENDS    OF   THE   ISLES* 

Bj  E-othesay,  through  the  Kyles  ;    and  evermore 
Some  varied  beauty  woo'd  them  from  the  shore 
To  gaze  upon  it.     Green  hills  speck'd  with  sheep, 
Or  jutting  rocks  that  nodded  o'er  the  deep  ; 
And  here  and  there,  some  mighty  boulder- stone 
Roll'd  from  a  precipice  to  stand  alone — 
Memento  of  convulsions  that  had  wrung 
The  hills  to  agony  when  earth  was  young. 

High  to  the  south,  majestic  Arran  rear'd 
Its  jagged  peaks,  storm-batter'd,  riv'n,  and  sear'd  ; 
And  blue  Lochfine,  enswathed  by  mountains  dun, 
Displayed  her  teeming  bosom  to  the  sun, 
And  raised  her  ripples  to  reflect  the  light, 
While  graceful  sea-gulls,  plumed  in  snowy  white, 
Follow'd  the  creaming  furrow  of  the  prow 
"With  easy  pinion  pleasurably  slow ; 
Then  on  the  waters  floated  like  a  fleet 
Of  tiny  vessels,  argosies  complete, 
Such  as  brave  Gulliver,  deep  wading,  drew 
Victorious  from  the  forts  of  Blefuscu. 

And  sweet  to  these  rejoicing  mariners 
Were  Crinan's  banks,  o'ergrown  with  sunny  furze, 
With  berried  brambles,  spotted  fox-glove  bells, 
Like  Mab's  pagodas,  built  on  pigmy  fells. 
With  hawthorn  bushes,  purple-crested  heath, 
And  orchis  and  anemone  beneath. 
In  plenteous  beauty.     Disembarking  here, 
Fresh  for  the  exercise,  and  full  of  cheer, 
They  walk'd  rejoicing  onward,  staff"  in  hand. 
Across  the  isthmus,  nine  good  miles  of  land, 


THE   HIGHLAND   RAMBLE.  f 

And  left  tlie  lingering  track-boat  in  the  locks, 

While  they  went  scrambling  over  briery  rocks 

For  heather  sprigs,  to  grace  their  caps  of  blue ; 

Then  on  again,  rejoicing  in  the  view 

Of  fertile  valleys  dotted  black  with  kine, 

And  hills  knee-deep  in  tamarisk  and  pine ; 

Discoursing  as  they  went  of  mica-schist, 

The  old  red  sandstone,  and  the  great  "  Fire  misc.." 

Of  nebulae — exploded;  and  the  birth. 

Myriads  of  ages  past,  of  a  young  earth, — 

Still  young  and  fresh,  though  venerably  old ; 

And  of  the  wondrous  tale  in  *^  Cosmos"  told, 

Of  heavenly  architecture  infinite. 

Suns,  systems^  groups,  revolving  in  the  light 

Of  beauty  eternal,  and  eternal  law, — 

Of  infinite  love,  magnificence  and  awe. 

And  thus  the  hours  were  rapidly  consunaed 
In  furnace  of  their  thought,  and  toil  entomb'd 
In  mental  working  ;  so  that  when  the  sea 
Burst  on  their  startled  vision  suddenly, 
They  doubted  if  their  eyes  beheld  indeed 
Loch  Crinan,  and  those  seas  that,  like  a  mead 
Sprinkled  with  flow'rs,  were  studded  o'er  with  isles  ; 
But  soon  they  knew  them  gleaming  in  the  smiles 
Of  an  unclouded  sun  ;  and  once  again 
Stepping  on  ship-boai'd,  steara'd  along  the  main. 

Most  lovely,  oh,  most  beautiful  and  grand 
Were  all  the  scenes  of  this  romantic  land  ! 
Isle  after  isle,  with  gray  empurpled  rocks, 
Breasted  in  steadfast  majesty  the  shocks, 


8  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

Stupendous,  of  the  wild  Atlantic  wave ; 

Many  a  desolate  sonorous  cave 

Re-echoed  through  its  inmost  vaults  profound 

The  mighty  diapason  and  full  sound 

Of  Corryvreckan — awful  orator — 

Preaching  to  lonely  isles  with  eloquent  roar; 

Many  a  mountain  rear'd  its  lordly  crest, 

Bronzed  or  empurpled  by  the  radiant  west; 

Many  a  hill-girt  rock  indented  far 

The  mainland ;  many  a  high  and  frowning  scaur. 

The  haunt  of  sea-fowl,  raised  its  barren  form, 

Furrow'd  with  age,  defiant  of  the  storm ; 

And  over  all  this  hazy  realm  was  spread 

A  halo  of  sad  memories  of  the  dead  : 

Of  mournful  love-tales ;  of  old  tragedies, 

Filling  the  heart  with  pity,  and  the  eyes 

With  tears,  at  bare  remembrance  ;  and  old  songs 

Of  love's  endurance,  love's  despair,  love's  wrongs, 

And  triumph  o'er  all  obstacles  at  last ; 

And  all  the  grief  and  passion  of  the  past. 

Invoking  these  to  daylight  from  the  womb 

Of  dim  tradition,  into  fuller  bloom 

Of  their  fresh  fancy,  greater  ravishment 

Was  it  to  them  to  ponder  as  they  went 

Upon  each  legend  in  its  own  sad  place, 

To  which  it  lent  a  beauty  and  a  grace. 

And  when  they  reach'd   the  rock-bound  shore  of 
Mull, 
A  land  of  driving  sleets  and  vapours  dull, 
But  fiU'd  with  mournful  grandeur  and  austere 
Magnificence,  the  Western  wave  shone  clear 


THE   HIGHLAND   RAMBLE.  9 

In  the  last  beams  of  day.     The  dying  light, 
Ere  it  departed,  swathed  each  mountain- height 
In  robes  of  purple ;  and  adown  the  west. 
Where  sea  and  sky  seem'd  mingling — breast  to  breast — 
Drew  the  dense  banks  of  ponderous  clouds,  and  spread 
A  mantle  o'er  them  of  a  royal  red, 
Belted  with  purple — lined  with  amber — tinged 
With  fiery  gold — and  blushing-purple  fringed. 

And  gorgeous  was  it  o'er  the  Western  Isles 
To  gaze  upon  the  sunset  'mid  those  piles 
Of  mountainous  clouds.    They  rear'd  their  sunny  copes 
Like  heavenly  Alps,  with  cities  on  their  slopes, 
Euilt  amid  glaciers — bristling  fierce  with  towers, 
Turrets  and  battlements  of  warlike  powers — 
Jagged  with  priestly  pinnacles  and  spires — 
And  crown'd  with  domes,  that  glitter'd  in  the  fires 
Of  the  slant  sun,  like  smithied  silver  bright ; — 
The  capitals  of  Cloudland.     When  the  light 
Grew  paler,  and  the  Eastern  dark  came  down, 
And  o'er  the  mystery  drew  his  mantle  brown, 
'Twas  lovely  still  to  watch  the  shore  and  sea 
Kobed  in  the  garment  of  obscurity  ; 
To  see  the  headlands  looming  through  the  mist, 
As  if  dissever'd  from  the  earth,  they  wist 
Not  altogether  of  which  element 
They  were  a  part,  indissolubly  blent. 

The  lights  of  Oban  glimmer'd  faint  and  far, 
And  over  Cruachan  shone  out  one  star 
Attendant  on  the  moon  ;  who,  issuing  forth 
Yellow  and  full,  display'd  to  all  the  north 


10  LKGEK'a^S   OF  THE   ISLES. 

Her  matron  face,  and  o'er  eacli  eastern  hill 

Pour'd  sleepy  lustre.     Beautifully  still 

Lay  Lochlin  in  her  beams — Lochlin  whose  breast 

"VYafted  so  oft  the  chieftains  of  the  west 

To  bloody  warfare ;  Lochlin  that  of  yore 

The  galleys  of  the  Gael  to  battle  bore 

Against  the  men  of  haughty  Innisfail ; 

Lochlin  of  storms,  where  Fingal  spread  his  sail 

To  meet  Cuchullin ;  Lochlin  of  the  spears  ; 

Blue  Lochlin  of  the  songs  of  other  years. 

A  mournful  sea  it  was,  a  mournful  shore  ; 

But  yet  so  lovely,  vestured  in  the  hoar 

Antiquity  of  many  memories, 

That  they  regretted  when  their  watchful  eyes 

Descried  Fortwilliam  aud  their  journey's  end. 

And  great  Ben  N'evis,  corried,  strath'd,  and  glenn'd, 

Bising  before  them.     Soon  the  sorrow  pass'd, — 

For  they  had  reached  a  resting-place  at  last, 

"Where  for  a  season  they  might  feed  Delight 

On  Beauty,  and  in  worldly  Care's  despite 

Give  themselves  up  to  Nature — not  in  part, 

But  with  all  energy  of  mind  and  heart, — 

That,  ere  returning  to  the  world  again. 

That  little  month  might  make  them  better  men. 

And  what  they  talk'd  of,  what  they  dream'd  or  sung, 

What  tales  they  told,  or  beads  of  fancy  strung. 

What  aspirations  of  a  better  time, 

Thev  form'd  for  men,  behold  in  rhythm  and  rhyme. 


THE  sea-king's  bukial.  11 


THE  SEA-KING'S  BUKIAL. 

[•'  riie  old  Norse  kings,  when  about  to  die,  had  their  body  laid  Into  a 
ship ;  the  ship  sent  forth  with  sails  set,  and  slow  fire  burning  in  it,  that, 
once  out  at  sea,  it  might  blaze  up  in  flame,  and  in  such  manner  bury 
worthily  the  old  hero,  at  once  in  the  sky  and  in  the  ocean."— Carlyi.k's 
Hero  Worship.} 


"  My  strength  is  failing  fast," 

Said  the  Sea-king  to  his  men ; — 
"  I  shall  never  sail  the  seas 
Like  a  conqueror,  again. 
But  while  yet  a  drop  remains 
Of  the  life-blood  in  my  veins, 
Kaise,  oh,  raise  me  from  the  bed  ; — 
Put  the  crown  upon  my  head ; — 
Put  my  good  sword  in  my  hand  ; 
And  so  lead  me  to  the  strand, 
Where  my  ship  at  anchor  rides 

Steadily  ; 
If  I  cannot  end  my  life 
In  the  bloody  battle-strife. 
Let  me  die  as  I  have  lived, 

On  the  sea." 

II. 

They  have  raised  King  Balder  up, 
Put  his  crown  upon  his  head ; 


12  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

Tliey  have  sheath'd  his  limbs  in  mail, 

And  the  purple  o'er  him  spread; 
And  amid  the  greeting  rude 
Of  a  gathering  multitude, 
Borne  him  slowly  to  the  shore — 
All  the  energy  of  yore 
From  his  dim  eyes  flashing  forth — 
Old  sea-lion  of  the  North ; — 
As  he  look'd  upon  his  ship 


Eidino:  free. 


And  on  his  forehead  pale 
Felt  the  cold  refreshing  gale, 
And  heard  the  welcome  sound 

Of  the  sea. 

III. 

"  Hurra  !  for  mighty  Balder  ! 

As  he  lived,  so  he  will  die  ! 
Hurra  !  hurra  !  for  Balder  !" 

Said  the  crowd  as  he  went  by. 
"  He  will  perish  on  the  wave, 

Like  the  old  Yikinger  brave;    » 

And  in  high  Yalhalla's  halls 

Hold  eternal  festivals ; 

And  drink  the  blood-red  draught 

None  but  heroes  ever  quaff'd, 
With  Odin  and  the  spirits 

Of  the  free. 

la  the  fire,  or  in  the  wreck. 

He  will  die  upon  the  deck, 
And  be  buried  like  a  monarch 

Of  the  sea." 


THE   sea-king's   BURIAL.  13 


IV. 

Old  Balder  heard  tlieir  slionts 

As  they  bore  him  to  the  beach  ; 
And  his  fading  eye  grew  bright 
With  the  eloquence  of  speech, 
As  he  heard  the  mighty  roar 
Of  the  people  on  the  shore, 
And  the  trumpets  pealing  round 
With  a  bold  triumphal  sound, 
And  saw  the  flags  afar 
Of  a  hundred  ships  of  war, 
That  were  riding  in  the  harbour 

Gallantly. 
And  said  Balder  to  his  men — 
And  his  pale  cheek  flush'd  again — 
"I  have  lived,  and  I  will  die 

On  the  sea."' 

V. 

They  have  borne  him  to  the  ship 
With  a  slow  and  solemn  tread  ; 

They  have  placed  him  on  the  deck 
With  his  crown  upon  his  head, 

Where  he  sat  as  on  a  throne ; 

And  have  left  him  there  alone. 

With  his  anchor  ready  weigh'd, 

And  the  snowy  sails  display 'd 

To  the  favouring  wind,  once  more 

Blowing  freshly  from  the  shore ; 
And  have  bidden  him  farewell 

Tenderly ; 


14  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

Saying,  "  King  of  mighty  men, 
We  shall  meet  thee  yet  again, 
In  Yalhalla,  with  the  monarchs 

Of  the  sea." 

VI. 

Underneath  him  in  the  hold 

They  had  placed  the  lighted  bi'and  ; 
And  the  fire  was  burning  slow 
As  the  vessel  from  the  land, 
Like  a  stag-hound  from  the  slips. 
Darted  forth  from  out  the  ships  ; — 
There  was  music  in  her  sail 
As  it  swell'd  before  the  gale, 
And  a  dashing  at  her  prow 
As  it  cleft  the  waves  below. 
And  the  good  ship  sped  along, 

Scudding  free. 
As  on  many  a  battle  morn 
In  her  time  she  had  been  borne. 
To  struggle,  and  to  conquer 

On  the  sea. 

VII. 

And  the  King  with  sudden  strength 
Started  up,  and  paced  the  deck, 

With  his  good  sword  for  his  staff, 
And  his  robe  around  his  neck ; — 

Once  alone,  he  waved  his  hand 

To  the  people  on  the  land  ; — 

And  with  shout  and  joyous  cry 

Once  again  they  made  reply. 


THE   sea-king's   BURIAL.  15 

Till  the  loud  exulting  cheer 
Sounded  faintly  on  his  ear; 
For  the  gale  was  o'er  him  blowing, 

Fresh  and  free ; 
And  ere  yet  an  hour  had  pass'd, 
He  was  driven  before  the  blast, 
And  a  storm  was  on  his  path, 

On  the  sea. 

VIII. 

And  still  upon  the  deck — 

While  the  storm  about  him  rent. 
King  Balder  paced  about 

Till  his  failing  strength  was  spent. 
Then  he  stopp'd  awhile  to  rest — 
Cross'd  his  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  look'd  upward  to  the  sky, 
With  a  dim  but  dauntless  eye  ; 
And  heard  the  tall  mast  creak. 
And  the  fitful  tempest  speak 
Shrill  and  fierce,  to  the  billows 

Kushing  free; 
And  within  himself  he  said, 
'•  I  am  coming,  oh,  ye  dead  ! 
To  join  you  in  Valhalla, 

O'er  the  sea. 

IX. 

"  So  blow,  ye  tempests — blow. 

And  my  spirit  shall  not  quail ; 

I  have  fought  with  many  a  foe ; — 

I  have  weather'd  many  a  gale ; 


16  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

And  in  this  hour  of  death, 
Ere  I  yield  my  fleeting  breath — 
Ere  the  fire  now  burning  slow 
Shall  come  rushing  from  below, 
And  this  worn  and  wasted  frame 
Ee  devoted  to  the  flame — 
I  will  raise  my  voice  in  triumph, 

Singing  free  j- 
To  the  great  All-fathers  home 
I  am  driving  through  the  foam, 
I  am  sailing  to  Yalhalla, 

O'er  the  sea. 


"  So,  blow,  ye  stormy  winds — 

And  ye  flames  ascend  on  high; — 
In  the  easy,  idle  bed 

Let  the  slave  and  coward  die  ! 
But  give  me  the  driving  keel. 
Clang  of  shields  and  flashing  steel ; — 
Or  my  foot  on  foreign  ground 
With  my  enemies  around! 
Happy,  happy,  thus  I'd  yield, 
On  the  deck  or  in  the  field, 
My  last  breath,  shouting  on 

'To  Yictory.' 
"But  since  this  has  been  denied, 
They  shall  say  that  I  have  died 


Without  flinching,  like  a  monarch 


Of  the  sea.' 


THE  sea-king's   BURIAL.  17 

XI. 

And  Balder  spake  no  more, 

And  no  sound  escaped  his  lip ; — 
And  he  look'd,  yet  scarcely  saw 

The  destruction  of  his  ship ; 
Nor  the  fleet  sparks  mounting  high, 
Nor  the  glare  upon  the  sky; — 
Scarcely  heard  the  billows  dash, 
Nor  the  burning  timber  crash ; — 
Scarcely  felt  the  scorching  heat 
That  was  gathering  at  his  feet. 
Nor  the  fierce  flames  mounting  o'er  him 

Greedily. 
But  the  life  was  in  him  yet. 
And  the  courage  to  forget 
All  his  pain,  in  his  triumph 

On  the  sea. 

XIL 

Once  alone  a  cry  arose, 

Half  of  anguish,  half  of  pride, 
As  he  sprang  upon  his  feet, 

With  the  flames  on  every  side. 
"  I  am  coming  !"  said  the  King, 
"  Where  the  swords  and  bucklers  ring — 
Where  the  warrior  lives  again 
With  the  souls  of  mighty  men — 
Where  the  weary  find  repose. 
And  the  red  wine  ever  flows  ; — 
I  am  coming,  great  All-Father, 

Unto  thee! 


18  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

Unto  Odin,  unto  Thor, 

And  the  strong  true  hearts  of  yore — 
I  am  coming  to  Yalhalla, 

O'er  the  sea," 


XIIL 

Bed  and  fierce  upon  the  sky 

Until  midnight,  shone  the  glare, 
And  the  burning  ship  drove  on — 

Like  a  meteor  of  the  air. 
She  was  driven  and  hurried  past, 
'Mid  the  roaring  of  the  blast. 
And  of  Balder,  warrior-born, 
Naught  remained  at  break  of  mom, 
On  the  charr'd  and  blaekeii'd  hull, 
But  some  ashes  and  a  skull ; 
And  still  the  vessel  drifted 

Heavily, 
With  a  pale  and  hazy  lisrht 
Until  far  into  the  night, 
When  the  storm  had  spent  its  rage 

On  the  sea. 

XIV. 

Then  the  ocean  ceased  her  strife 
With  the  wild  winds  lull'd  to  rest, 

And  a  full,  round,  placid  moon 
Shed  a  halo  on  her  breast ; 

And  the  burning  ship  still  lay 

On  the  deep  sea,  ^r  away; 


THE   sea-king's   BURIAL.  19 

From  her  ribs  of  solid  oak, 

Pouring  forth  the  flame  and  smoke ; 

Until,  burnt  through  all  her  bulk 

To  the  water's  edge,  the  hulk 
Down  a  thousand  fathoms  sunk 

Suddenly, 

With  a  low  and  sullen  sound ; 

While  the  billows  sang  around 
Sad  requiems  for  the  monarch 

Of  the  sea. 


c2 


20  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


THE  DANCE  OF  BALLOCHROY. 


"  If  e'er  yoii  woo'd  a  loving  maid, 
And  having  won  her,  you  betray'd, 
Beware,  Lord  Edward,  thoughtless  boy, 
Nor  pass  the  hills  of  Ballochroy. 

II. 

"  For  there,  'tis  said,  the  livelong  nights 
The  sward  is  trod  by  elves  and  sprites, 
And  shadowy  forms  of  maids  departed, 
And  ghosts  of  women  broken-hearted. 

III. 

"  And  aye  they  dance  a  mystic  round 
Upon  these  knolls  of  haunted  ground, 
And  sing  sweet  airs  till  break  of  day, 
To  lure  the  traveller  from  his  way. 


THE  DANCE   OF   BALLOCHBOY.  21 

IV. 

"  Thougli  if  your  soul  from  guilt  be  clear, 
E-ide  boldly  on  j — you  need  not  fear  ; 
For  pleasant  sounds,  and  sights  of  joy, 
Shall  hem  you  round  on  Ballochroy. 


"  But  if  you've  brought  a  maid  to  death 
By  guileful  words  and  breach  of  faith, 
Shut  ear  and  eye,  nor  look  behind, 
Nor  hear  their  voices  on  the  wind. 

VI. 

"They'll  seek  your  senses  to  entrance — 
They'll  woo  you  to  their  airy  dance ; 
And  press,  with  winning  smiles  and  quips. 
Their  melting  kisses  to  your  lips; 

VII. 

"And  every  kiss  shall  be  a  dart 

That  through  your  lips  shall  pierce  your  heart ; 

For  short  the  life  and  short  the  joy 

Of  those  who  dance  on  Ballochroy." 

VIII. 

Lord  Edward  laugh'd  his  words  to  scorn — 
"I  must  be  wed  to-morrow  morn; 
Your  idle  tale  I  may  not  hear; 
I  cannot  linger  from  my  dear." 


LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


IX. 


He  gave  the  reins  to  his  dapple  gray, 
And  o'er  the  mountain  rode  away ; 
And  the  old  man  sigh'd,  "I  wish  him  joy 
On  the  haunted  hills  of  Ballochroy ! " 


And  three  miles  west,  and  three  miles  north, 
Over  the  moorland  went  he  forth, 
And  thought  of  his  bonny  blushing  May, 
The  fairest  maid  of  Oronsay. 

XL 

And  he  thought  of  a  lady  dead  and  gone — 
Of  Ellen,  under  the  kirk-yard  stone  ; 
And  then  he  whistled  a  hunting-song 
To  drown  remembrance  of  a  wrong. 

XIL 

But  still  it  came.     "Alas!"  thought  he, 
"  I  fear  she  died  for  love  of  me  : 
Soft  be  her  sleep  in  the  fresh  green  sod — 
I  trust  her  spirit  is  with  her  God. 

XIII. 

"But  to-morrow  is  my  bridal  day 
With  the  bonnie  Bell  of  Oronsay ; 
From  her  no  fate  my  soul  shall  sever, 
So  let  the  past  be  past  for  ever." 


THE   DANCE   OF  BALLOCHROY.  23 

XIV. 

And  still  lie  whistled  his  hunting-tune, 
Till  high  in  the  heavens  arose  the  moon, 
And  had  no  thought  but  of  future  joy, 
Till  he  came  to  the  hills  of  Ballochroy. 

XV. 

And  there,  beneath  a  birken-tree, 
He  found  a  lady  fair  to  see, 
With  eyes  that  might  the  stars  eclipse, 
And  a  smile  upon  her  ripe  red  lips. 

XVI. 

Her  garments  seem'd  of  azure  bright. 
Her  dainty  hands  were  rosy  white. 
And  her  golden  hair  so  long  and  sleek, 
Fell  clustering  o'er  each  glowing  cheek. 

XVII. 

He  gazed  upon  this  bonnie  May, 
Fairer  than  Bell  of  Oronsay, 
Fairer  than  Ellen,  dead  and  gone, 
Or  any  maid  the  sun  shone  on. 

XVIII. 

"  Oh,  lady  dear !   the  night  is  chill, 
The  dews  are  damp  upon  the  hill, 
A  fitful  wind  begins  to  moan — 
What  brings  thee  here  so  late  alone  ? " 


24  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


XIX. 


The  lady  blushed,  and  on  lier  tongue — 
Timid — the  falterin^j  answer  hungf — 
"  I  have  come  for  thee,  dear  lord,"  she  said, 
And  on  his  arm  her  hand  she  laid. 


XX. 


"  For  I  have  loved  thee  long  and  well, 
More  than  a  maiden  ought  to  tell, 
And  I  sit  beneath  this  birken-tree 
To  pass  one  hour  of  love  with  thee." 


XXI. 


He  sprang  from  his  steed  of  dapple  gray. 
And  at  the  lady's  feet  he  lay; 
Her  lily  hand  in  his  he  press'd. 
And  lean'd  his  head  upon  her  breast. 


XXII. 

Her  long  fair  tresses  o'er  him  hung, 
As  round  his  neck  her  arm  she  flung ; 
Her  beauty  chami'd  both  touch  and  sight- 
His  pulse  beat  quicker  with  delight : — 


XXIIL 

"  Oh,  lady  dear  !  these  eyes-  of  mine 
Never  saw  beauty  like  to  thine  ! 
Those  loving  lips,  oh,  let  me  kiss  ! 
Never  was  rapture  like  to  this  1  '* 


THE  DANCE  OF  BALLOCHROY.  25 


XXIV. 


She  smiled  upon  him  as  he  spoke, 
And  on  his  ear  these  accents  broke ; 
"  Deep  was  the  love  for  thee  I  bore — 
Thou  shalt  be  mine  for  evermore. 

XXV. 

"Come  to  my  bower — ^'tis  fair  to  see, 
And  all  prepared,  dear  lord,  for  thee ; 
Come !"   and  such  smiles  her  face  suffused, 
He  had  been  stone  had  he  refused. 

XXVI. 

His  heart  was  full,  his  reeling  brain 
Felt  the  sharp  pleasure  prick  like  pain  ; 
And  his  eyes  grew  dim  with  love  and  joy 
On  the  haunted  hills  of  Ballochroy. 

XXVII. 

On  every  side — above — below — 
He  heard  a  strain  of  music  flow, 
Dying  in  murmurs  on  his  ear, 
Gentle  and  plaintive,  soft  and  clear. 

XXVIII. 

Anon  a  bolder  voice  ifc  took, 
Till  all  the  air  with  music  shook — 
A  full,  inspiring,  martial  strain, 
Heaving  like  waves  upon  the  main. 


26  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


Amid  the  tangling  flowers  and  grass 
The  fitful  echoes  seem'd  to  pass ; 
And  then  it  sank,  and  sweet  and  slow, 
Mingled  the  notes  of  joy  and  woe ; — 

XXX. 

Then  changed  again  :    a  jocund  lay 

Kose  'mid  the  tree-tops  far  away; 

And  brisk  and  light,  and  tuned  to  pleasure, 

Floated  in  air  the  merry  measure. 


And  nearer  as  the  rapture  came. 

He  felt  its  power  in  all  his  frame ; 

His  pulse  beat  quick,  his  eyes  grew  bright, 

His  limbs  grew  supple  with  delight. 

XXXII. 

With  throbbing  heart  and  loving  look, 
The  lady  by  the  hand  he  took  ; 
And  as  she  smiled,  her  fairy  feet 
Moved  to  the  measure  brisk  and  sweet. 

XXXIII. 

He  would  not,  if  he  could,  resist, 
Her  beauty  wrapp'd  him  like  a  mist ; 
And  gliding  with  her,  kind  yet  coy. 
They  danced  the  dance  of  Ballochroy. 


THE  DANCE   OF   BALLOCHROY.  27 

XXXIV. 

He  clasp'd  her  round  the  dainty  waist, 
Their  glowing  hands  were  interlaced; 
And  now  they  glided — now  they  flew — 
And  tripp'd  in  circles  o'er  the  dew. 

XXXV. 

And  still  the  music  sounded  high 
The  full  free  tide  of  harmony ; 
Kesponsive  still  to  every  note 
Their  nimble  footsteps  seem'd  to  float. 

XXXVI. 

And  now  they  bounded,  now  they  tripp'd, 
With  panting  pleasure,  open-lipp'd, 
And  brisker,  merrier,  louder  still 
Sounded  the  music  o'er  the  hill. 

XXXVII. 

Faint  with  the  joy,  he  craved  delay ; 
But  no — his  limbs  refused  to  stay. 
And  danced  impulsive  to  the  sound, 
And  traced  a  circle  on  the  ground. 

XXXVIII. 

There  seem'd  a  film  before  his  eyes- 
He  saw  new  shapes  of  beauty  rise  ;-^ 
They  seem'd  to  gather  at  the  tune 
Between  him  and  the  western  moon. 


28  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

XXXIX. 

In  robes  of  azure  and  of  green, 
Amber  and  white,  and  purple  sbeen — 
A  troop  of  maidens  young  and  fair, 
With  sparkling  eyes  and  flowing  hair. 

XL. 

And  as  before  his  sight  they  pass'd, 
Each  maid  seem'd  lovelier  than  the  last. 
And  smiled  upon  him  as  she  came. 
With  looks  of  love,  and  eyes  of  flame. 

XLL 

Then  smoothing  back  their  tresses  bright, 
They  join'd  their  fingers  long  and  white, 
And  lightly  shook  their  sparkling  feet 
To  the  glad  measure  as  it  beat. 

XLII. 

And  as  the  fairy  round  they  danced. 
And  now  retreated,  now  advanced, 
Their  noiseless  footsteps  on  the  sod 
Left  a  green  circle  where  they  trod. 

XLIII. 

Like  dragon-flies  upon  a  stream, 
Or  motes  upon  a  slanting  beam, 
They  parted — met — retired — entwined 
Their  loose  robes  waving  in  the  wind. 


THE  DANCE   OF   BALLOCnROY. 
XLIV. 

Transparent  as  the  network  light 
Spun  by  the  gossamer  at  night, 
Through  every  fold  each  rounded  limb 
Shone  warm  and  beautiful,  but  dim. 

XLV. 

Dazzled  and  reeling  with  delight, 
He  turn'd  away  his  aching  sight, 
Then  fell  exhausted  in  a  swoon, 
In  the  full  radiance  of  the  moon. 

XLVI. 

Kot  long  endured  his  soul's  eclipse  ; 
He  felt  warm  kisses  on  his  lips, 
And  heard  a  voice  in  accents  clear 
Breathe  a  soft  whisper  in  his  ear, — 

XLVII. 

"  Rise,  my  dear  lord  !   shake  off  this  trance. 
And  join  my  sisters  in  their  dance  ; 
'Tis  all  to  give  thee  joy  they  play ; 
My  hand  shall  guide  thee — come  away  ! " 

XLVITI. 

He  rose  ; — her  bright  eyes  brighter  shone, 
Raining  kind  looks  to  cheer  him  on  ; 
While  the  celestial  music  still 
Hoird  its  glad  echoes  o'er  the  hill. 


29 


so  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


XLIX. 


And  once  again  the  dance  they  twined — 
They  seem'd  like  feathers  on  the  wind — 
Their  hands  they  waved,  their  feet  they  twirl'd — 
They  ran,  they  leap'd,  they  tripp'd,  they  whirl'd. 


But  as  he  danced  his  eyes  grew  dim, 
His  blood  ran  thick  through  every  limb; 
And  every  face,  so  fair  and  bright, 
Appear'd  distorted  to  his  sight. 


The  lustre  of  their  eyes  was  gone, 
Their  cheeks  grew  wrinkled,  pale,  and  wan ; 
Their  fair  plump  arms  grew  shrivell'd  skin, 
Their  voices  hoarse,  and  sharp,  and  thin. 


Bloodshot  and  blear,  and  hollow-eyed, 
Each  raised  her  finger  to  deride ; 
And  each,  more  hideous  than  the  last 
Chatter'd  and  jabber'd  as  she  pass'd. 

LIII. 

And  with  discordant  yell  and  shout, 

They  wheel'd  in  frantic  droves  about, 

And  gibing,  in  his  visage,  scowl'd. 

And  moan'd,  and  shriek'd,  and  laugh' d,  and  howl'd. 


THE   DANCE   OF  BALLOCHROY.  31 

LIV. 

Again  he  fell  in  speechless  dread ; 
And  then  came  one  with  drooping  head^ 
And  looks  all  pity  and  dismay, 
And  gazed  upon  him  where  he  lay. 

LV. 

Her  glancing  eyes  were  black  as  jet, 
Her  fair  pale  cheeks  with  tears  were  wet; 
And  beauty,  modesty,  and  grace 
Strove  for  the  mastery  on  her  face. 

LVI. 

He  knew  her  well ;   and,  as  she  wept, 
A  cold,  cold  shudder  o'er  him  crept  : 
'Twas  Ellen's  self!    ah,  well  he  knew 
That  face  so  fair — that  heart  so  true  I 

LVJI. 

He  felt  her  tear-drops  fall  and  flow, 
But  they  were  chill  as  melted  snow; 
Then  looking  on  her  face,  he  sigh'd. 
Felt  her  cold  kiss,  and  shivering — died  ! 


Next  day,  with  many  an  anxious  fear, 
His  father  sought  him  far  and  near; 
And  his  sad  mother,  old  and  gray, 
"Wept  with  the  bride  of  Oronsay. 


33  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


LIX. 


They  found  his  body  on  the  knoll, 
And  pray'd  for  mercy  on  his  soul ; 
And  his  bride  a  widow's  weeds  put  ou, 
And  mourn'd  Lord  Edward,  dead  and  gone. 


If  you  have  brought  a  maid  to  death 
By  guileful  words  and  breach  of  faith- 
In  weal  or  woe,  in  grief  or  joy, 
Beware  the  hills  of  Ballochroy ! 


c->>£,<5^4&#D^ca-'-> 


S>T.    tJl.tMliA. 


ST.  COLUMBA.  33 


ST.  COLUMBA ;  OR  THE  COUNTING  OF  THE  ISLES. 

[The  following  legend,  with  some  slight  variation,  is  current  in  the 
Hebrides.  One  version  states,  that  the  Saint  takes  his  stand  upon  the 
walls  of  the  ruined  cathedral  of  lona,  and  counts  the  isles ;  but  makes 
no  mention  of  the  ghostly  company  introduced  into  the  ballad.] 


Hush'd  were  the  winds,  and  not  a  breath 

Disturb'd  the  peaceful  sea, 
And  even  to  Staffa's  echoing  caves 
The  large,  uneasy,  western  waves 

Came  beating  quietly; 
Starless  and  moonless  was  the  night, 

And  on  the  waters  lay. 
Like  silence  palpable  to  sight. 

Thick  wreaths  of  vapour  gray. 

II. 

Far  in  the  west,  'raid  rain  and  mist, 

Upon  the  deep  afloat, 
Without  an  oar,  without  a  sail, 

Came  down  a  little  boat : 
Amid  the  mazes  of  the  isles 

By  hands  unseen  propell'd, 
By  frowning  scaur,  through  whirlpool  roar, 

Its  noiseless  way  it  held; 
Like  a  shadow  gliding,  dark  and  slow, 
Unwitting  how  the  winds  might  blow. 
D 


34  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLES. 

IIL 

And  at  the  stern,  with  downcast  eyes. 

And  Lands  upon  his  breast, 
There  sat  the  figure  of  a  man, 

Serene,  like  one  possessed 
With  peaceful  thoughts,  that  quite  absorbed 

All  faculties  combined, 
So  that  his  sight,  to  left  nor  right, 

Ne'er  wander'd  from  his  mind, 
Nor  his  ear  heard  the  murmur  low 
Of  waters  cleaving  at  the  prow. 

IT. 

Down  through  the  seas,  where  Lewis  afar 

The  dim  horizon  streaks ; 
By  Skye,  where  lordly  Guillens  I'ear 

Their  high  fantastic  peaks; 
By  Ronan  and  her  sister  islej 

By  Coll  and  green  Tiree  ; 
And  by  the  giant  crags  of  Mull 

That  frown  upon  the  sea ; 
By  Ulva's  isle  and  Fingal's  cave, 
Palace  and  wonder  of  the  wave ; — 

V. 

Still  on — still  on — till  morning  dawn 

The  boat  pursued  its  way  : 
Still  on — still  on — till  night,  slow-drawn, 

Through  sleet  and  vapour  gray, 
It  held  its  course  amid  the  Isles, 

Nor  stopp'd  by  night  or  day; 


ST.  COLUMBA.  35 

And  still  the  figure,  heeding  nought, 
Sat  silent,  gather'd  in  his  thought. 

VI. 
Behind  the  boat,  the  waters  shone 

With  phosphorescent  light — 
Slow  from  the  keel,  like  glancing  steel. 

The  waves  fell  off,  all  night. 
At  length,  far  looming  through  the  mist 

That  now  from  heaven  upclear'd, 
lona,  sepulchre  of  kings, 

The  holy  isle,  appear' d — 
The  Culdee's  bower,  the  place  of  graves, 
The  fair  green  "island  of  the  waves." 

VII. 

The  moon,  new  risen,  look'd  forth  from  heaven, 

And  purpled  every  height, 
And  waves  upheaved  their  silvery  sides. 

Rejoicing  in  the  light — 
And  mountain  tops,  with  radiance  toucli'd, 

Look'd  placidly  below. 
As  onwards  to  lona's  isle 

The  boat  went  gliding  slow; 
And  the  lone  traveller  stepp'd  on  shore, 
Leaning  upon  the  staff  he  bore. 

VIII. 

A  long  loose  mantle  wrapp'd  his  limbs, 

A  cowl  conceal'd  his  head ; 
And  meek  yet  lordly  was  his  look. 

And  solemn  was  his  tread. 
D  2 


SG  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLES. 

And  lo — to  meet  liim  on  the  beach, 
A  pale  and  shadowy  band, 

Barefoot,  bareheaded,  holding  each 
A  taper  in  his  hand, 

Came  in  long  line  from  Oran's  shrine, 

And  gather'd  on  the  strand. 


IX. 

No  word  was  said,  no  sign  was  made, — 

Spectres  all  pale  and  wan. 
With  earthward  looks — 'mid  silence  deep- 

Their  noiseless  march  began. 
And  slow  they  follow'd  where  he  led; 

And,  moved  as  by  a  blast, 
The  doors  of  St.  Columba's  kirk 

Flew  open  as  they  pass'd. 
And  show'd  the  lights  on  roof  and  wall 
Lit  up  for  solemn  festival. 


And  choral  voices  sweet  and  clear. 

Drawn  out  in  cadence  long. 
Re-echoed  through  the  vaulted  aisles 

Attuned  to  holy  song ; 
And  music  like  a  flowing  tide 

From  organ-pipes  unseen, 
Pour'd  forth  a  full  majestic  strain 

Each  solemn  pause  between ; 
And  myrrh  and  incense  fill'd  the  air, 
And  shadowy  lips  were  moved  in  prayer. 


ST.  COLUMBA.  37 


XI. 


Each  damp  and  moss-grown  sepulchre, 

Each  vault  and  charnel  cold, 
Each  grassy  mound  let  forth  its  dead, 

And  from  th'  enfettering  mould 
Dim  shadows  of  departed  kings, 

Sceptred  and  robed  and  crown' d, 
And  mitred  bishops,  meek  and  pale, 

And  abbots  cowl'd  and  gown'd, 
Came  thronging  in  the  moonlight  gray 
In  long  impalpable  array. 

XII. 

And  fierce  Yikinger,  swathed  in  mail, 

Pallid  and  gaunt,  stood  forth, — 
Old  pirates,  that  to  spoil  the  land 

Had  issued  from  the  North. 
Lords  of  the  Isles,  and  Thanes,  and  Jarls, 

Barons  and  Marmors  grim, 
With  helm  on  head  and  glaive  in  hand, 

In  rusty  armour  dim, 
Responsive  to  some  powerful  call 
Gather'd  obedient,  one  and  all. 

XTII. 

And  now  the  choral  voices  hush'd, 

And  ceased  the  organ  tone ; 
As  to  the  altar-steps,  high  raised, 

Sad,  silent,  and  alone, 


38  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

The  traveller  pass'd. — To  him  all  eyes 

Turo'd  reverent  as  he  trod, 
And  whispering  voices,  each  to  each, 

Proclaim'd  the  man  of  God — 
Columba,  in  his  ancient  place, 
Eadiant  with  glory  and  with  grace. 

XIV. 

Back  fell  his  cowl — his  mantle  dropp'd, 

And  in  a  stream  of  light, 
A  halo  round  his  aged  head, 

And  robed  in  dazzling  white — 
The  saint  with  smiles  of  heavenly  love 

Stretch'd  forth  his  hands  to  pray, 
And  kings  and  thanes,  and  monks  and  jarls. 

Knelt  down  in  their  array, 
Silent,  with  pallid  lips  compress'd, 
And  hands  crossed  humbly  on  their  breast. 


XV. 

He  craved  a  blessing  on  the  Isles, 

And  named  them,  one  by  one — 
Fair  western  isles  that  love  the  glow 

Of  the  departing  sun. — 
From  Arran  looming  in  the  south, 

To  northern  Orcades, 
Then  to  lona  back  again. 

Through  all  those  j^erilous  seas, 
Three  nights  and  days  the  saint  had  sail'd, 

To  count  the  Hebrides. 


ST.   COLUMBA.  39 


XVI. 


He  loved  them  for  lona's  sake. 

The  isle  of  prayer  and  praise, 
Where  Truth  and  Knowledge  found  a  home 

When  fallen  on  evil  days. 
And  now  he  bless'd  them,  each  and  all, 

And  pray'd  that  evermore, 
Plenty  and  peace,  and  Christian  love, 

Might  smile  on  every  shore. 
And  that  their  mountain-glens  might  be 
The  abiding-places  of  the  free. 

XVII. 

Then,  as  he  ceased,  Kings,  Abbots,  Earls, 

And  all  the  shadowy  train, 
Kose  from  their  knees,  and  choral  songs 

Ke-echoed  loud  again — 
And  then  were  hush'd — the  lights  burn'd  dim. 

And  ere  the  dawn  of  day. 
The  saint  and  all  the  ghostly  choir 

Dissolved  in  mist  away : 
Aerial  voices  sounding  still 
Sweet  harmonies  from  Duni's  hilL 

XVIII. 

And  every  year  Columba  makes, 

While  yet  the  summer  smiles, 
Alone,  within  his  spectral  boat, 

The  circuit  of  the  isles ; — 


40  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

And  monks  and  abbots,  thanes  and  kings, 
From  vault  and  cliarnel  start, 

Disburied,  in  the  rite  to  bear 
Their  dim,  allotted  part, 

And  crave,  upon  their  bended  knees, 

A  blessing  on  the  Hebrides. 


THE   "dream,"   by   BEAULY,    ROSS-SHIRE.  41 


THE  "DEEAM,"  BY  BEAULY,  EOSS-SHIEE. 

[The  high  banks  of  the  Beauly,  near  Kilmorack,  in  Ross-shire,  are 
eovered  with  birch-trees,  ascending  to  a  great  height,  with  occasionally 
rocks,  fir-plantations,  and  mountain-paths  to  vary  the  scene ;  and  the 
river  foaming  and  breaking  into  numerous  falls  below.  This  magnificent 
tract,  which  extends  about  three  miles,  is  termed  "the  Dream,*'  a  name 
that  seems  to  harmonize  with  the  wild  beauty  of  the  landscape.  The 
true  orthography,  however,  is  the  Drhuim,  signifying,  in  the  Gaelic  lan- 
guage, bridge. — The  Highland  Note-book,  by  R.  Carruthers.] 

I. 

In  Lomond's  isles  tlie  rowans  grow, 

In  sweet  Glennant  the  lintocks  tarry, 
And  grand  is  Cruachan  by  Loch  Awe, 

And  bonny  are  the  birks  of  Garry. 
Beloved  spots  ! — yet  dearer  far, 

And  cherish'd  in  my  heart  more  truly. 
Are  sweet  Kilmorack's  lingering  falls. 

The  lovely  "  Dream"  and  banks  of  Beauly. 

n. 

The  joyous  river  runs  its  course, 

iNow  dark  and  deep,  now  clear  and  shallow ; 
And  high  on  either  side  the  rocks 

Bise,  crown'd  with  mosses  green  and  yellow; 
And  birks,  the  "  damsels  of  the  wood," 

So  slim  and  delicately  shaded. 
Stand  in  the  clefts,  and  look  below, 

With  graceful  forms  and  tresses  braided. 


i2  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


IIL 

And  rowans  flourisli  on  the  heights, 

With  scarlet  bunches  thickly  studded, 
And  brambles,  heavy-laden,  trail 

Their  luscious  berries  purple-blooded  ; 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  hills, 

Wooing  the  bees,  the  modest  heather 
Waves  to  the  wind  its  hardy  bells, 

And  blossoms  in  the  wildest  weather. 

IV. 

Oh  that  I  might,  'mid  scenes  like  this, 

In  the  fresh  noon  of  life  and  feeling, 
Build  up  a  bower  where  I  might  dwell. 

All  nature  to  my  soul  revealing. 
Far  from  the  bustling  crowds  that  swarm 

'Mid  the  great  city's  endless  riot, 
How  happily  my  days  would  flow 

In  converse  with  these  woodlands  quiet ! 


V. 

Unmindful  of  the  hollow  pomp 

And  festering  coronet  of  splendour — 
Heedless  of  Fame,  and  all  the  din 

Of  shouting  voices  that  attend  her; — 
With  leisure,  when  my  fancy  led. 

To  roam  the  glen  or  forest  thorough. 
To  climb  the  mountain-top,  and  trace 

The  torrent  upward,  by  its  furrow. — 


THE   "dream,"   by   BEAULY,   ROSS-SHIRE.  43 

VI. 

To  let  the  winds  in  stormy  nights 

Blow  in  my  hair;  to  tread  the  heather 
In  tempest  and  in  calm  alike, 

Braving,  plaid-bound,  the  roughest  weather ; — 
To  hold  communion  night  and  day 

With  Nature — to  her  bosom  turning 
Aye  for  relief — and  from  her  face 

'New  hope,  new  joy,  new  wisdom  learning. 

vir. 

Oh  for  a  bower  where  I  might  dwell 

In  this  contemplative  seclusion, 
With  wealth  sufficient  for  the  wants- 

Of  temperate  Nature^ — ^not  profusion. 
A  cottage  on  the  green  hill-side, 

Sacred  to  friendship,  love,  and  duty — 
A  garden  fair,  with  trees  for  fruit, 

And  some  for  shadow  and  for  beauty. 

VIII. 

Here,  not  unmindful  of  my  kind, — 

Flying  the  world,  but  never  scorning, — 
My  voice,  to  solemn  lay  attuned^ 

Or  cheerful  as  the  lark's  at  morning, 
Might  reach  the  crowds  that  I  had  left, 

And  bear  my  thoughts  to  many  a  dwelling, 
Where  human  hearts  might  throb  to  hear 

The  tale  I  would  delight  in  telling. 


44  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


The  tale,  or  song,  whose  burden  still, 

Serene  or  glad,  should  preach  to  sorrow, — 
That  sunshine  follows  after  rain. 

And  after  darkest  night  a  morrow; — 
That  those  who  strive  with  evil  days. 

If  their  own  strength  they  would  but  measure, 
Might  turn  endurance  into  joy, 

And  outward  woe  to  inward  pleasure ; 


That  earth,  though  fill'd  with  care  and  grief, 

Has  joy  for  those  who  wisely  seek  ifc ; 
That  if  the  heart  be  truly  taught, 

It  may  defy  the  world  to  break  it ; — 
That  love  and  virtue  are  not  names, 

But  things,  to  those  who  prize  them  given; 
And  that  the  more  we  love  our  kind. 

The  more  our  bliss  in  earth  and  heaven. 


XI. 

But  fare  thee  well,  sweet  Beauly  stream  ! 

Upon  thy  banks  I  may  not  linger; — 
My  task  is  set,  my  daily  toil 

Beckons  me  hence  with  ruthless  finger. 
Farewell,  and  when  in  cities  pent, 

I'll  cherish  thy  remembrance  duly. 
And  long  for  autumn  days  again, 

To  lead  my  footsteps  back  to  Beauly 


THE  INVASION   OF    THE  NORSEMEN.  45 


THE  INVASION  OF  THE  NORSEMEN. 


Haco,  king  of  Norway,  call'd  his  men  of  might, 

Sea-captains  and  Yikinger — his  veterans  in  fight ; 

And  set  sail  for  Scotland's  coast 

With  a  well-apparelFd  host. 

Fully  twenty  thousand  strong — 

When  the  summer  days  grew  long — 

In  the  fairest  fleet  that  ever  the  North  Sea  billows  bore, 

To  harry  it,  and  pillage  it,  and  hold  it  evermore. 

II. 

Mile  on  mile  extended,  o'er  the  ocean  blue, 

Sail'd  the  ships  of  battle,  white  and  fair  to  view — 

Kunning  races  on  the  sea. 

With  their  streamers  waving  free, 

From  their  saucy  bows  all  day 

Dashing  up  the  scornful  spray. 

And  leaving  far  behind  them,  in  the  darkness  of  the 

night, 
TJnborrow'd  from  the  firmament,  long  tracks  of  liquid 

light. 


4:^  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES, 

IIL 

Past  the  isles  of  Shetland  lay  the  monarch's  path, 

E-ound  the  isles  of  Orkney  and  the  Cape  of  Wrath, 

'Mid  the  Islands  of  the  West 

That  obey'd  his  high  behest — 

The  Lewis,  and  TJist,  and  Skye, 

And  the  countless  isles  that  lie 

Between  the  wide  Atlantic  and  Albyn's  mountains 

brown, 
And  paid  him  homage  duly,  and  fealty  to  his  crown. 

IV. 

Music  and  rejoicing  follow'd  on  their  way. 

Drinking  and  carousing  nightly  till  the  day. 

Every  sailor  in  the  fleet 

Felt  his  heart  with  pleasure  beat. 

Every  soldier  in  the  ships 

Had  a  smile  upon  his  lips, 

As  he  drank,  and  saw,  in  fancy,  reeking  sword  and 

flaming  brand. 
And  the  rapine,  and  the  violence,  and  the  carnage  of 

the  land. 


Not  amid  the  mountains  of  the  rugged  North 
Would  the  mighty  Haco  send  his  legions  forth  ; 
Not  by  highland  loch  or  glen 
Would  he  land  his  eager  men ; — 
Not  on  banks  of  moorland  stream 
Were  their  thirsty  swords  to  gleam  ; — 


THE   INVASION   OF   THE  NORSEMEN.  47 

But  further  to  tlie  southward,  from  the  rocks  of  bare 

Argyll 
To  the  sloping  hills  of  Renfrew,  and  the  grassy  meads 

of  Kyle. 

VI. 

In  the  vales  of  Carrick,  smiling  by  the  sea, 

In  the  woods  of  Lennox,  in  the  Lothians  three, 

There  was  fatness  all  the  year — 

There  were  sheep  and  fallow-deer — 

There  was  mead  to  fill  the  horn — 

There  were  kye  and  there  was  corn, — 

There  was  food  for  hungry  Norsemen,  with  spoil  to 

last  them  long, 
And  lordly  towers  to  revel  in,  with  music  and  with 

song. 

VII. 

Like  scarts  upon  the  wing,  by  the  hope  of  plunder  led, 

Pass'd  the  ships  of  Haco,  with  sails  like  pinions  spread. 

But  the  tidings  went  before 

To  the  inland,  from  the  shore  ; 

And  from  crag  to  mountain  crag, 

At  the  terror  of  his  flag. 

Arose  a  cry  of  warning,  and  a  voice  of  loud  alarm, 

That  caird  the  startled  multitudes  to  gather  and  to 


VIII. 

Every  mountain-summit  had  its  beal-fire  bright ; 
All  Argyll,  ere  sunset,  crown'd  its  hills  with  light, 


48  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

And  from  Morven  to  Cantyre 
Lit  the  chain  of  signal-fire  ; 
From  Cantyre  to  Cowal's  coast 
Blazed  a  warning  of  the  host 

Of  savage  Norse  invaders  that  to  spoil  and  harry  came, 
With  their  lust  and  with  their  hunger — with  the 
^^word  and  with  the  flame. 


IX. 

Glen  call'd  out   to   mountain — mount   to   moorland 

brown, 
Village  call'd  to  village,  town  gave  voice  to  town  ; — 
And  the  bells  in  every  tower 
Kang  the  tocsin  hour  by  hour, 
Until  old  Dunedin  heard. 
And  the  Lothians  three  were  stirr'd, 
And  sent  their  yeomen  westward  to  struggle  hand  to 

hand 
For  their  wives  and  for  their  children,  for  their  home 

and  native  land. 


Wives  had  no  endearment  for  a  laggard  lord ; 

Maidens  had  no  love-looks  and  no  kindly  word 

For  the  lover  who  was  slow 

To  march  out  against  the  foe. 

Even  maids  themselves  put  on 

Coat  of  mail  and  habergeon  j 

Threw  the  snood  off  for  the  helmet,  left  the  distaff  for 

the  spear. 
To  die  for  sake  of  Scotland,  with  a  sire  or  lover  dear. 


THE   INVASION   OF   THE  NOIISEMEN.  49 

XL 

Young  King  Alexander  raarcli'd  his  legions  forth, 
From  eastward  to  the  westward,  from  southward  to 

the  north  : 
High  his  flashing  falchion  gleam'd, 
In  his  blue  eye  valour  beam'd, 
In  his  heart  high  courage  glow'd, 
As  in  pride  of  youth  he  rode 
With  the  flower  of  Scotland's  people^  to  defend  her 

sacred  soil, 
And  repel  the  Norse  marauders  that  came  down  for 

blood  and  spoil. 

XII, 

With  him  rode  the  Comyn,  grown  in  battles  gray, 

With  a  thousand  bowmen  ready  for  the  fray, 

With  a  tongue  to  give  command, 

And  a  rough  untiring  hand  ; 

With  a  cheek  in  combat  scarr'd, 

And  a  soul  to  pity  hard ; 

When  he  drew  his  sword  for  battle,  and  flung  away 

the  sheath, 
It  was  death  to  him  who  struggled  with  the  Comyn  of 

Monteith. 

XIII. 

And  the  Bishop  of  St.  Andrew's,  a  priest  but  in  his 

name. 
In  his  heart  a  soldier,  with  all  his  warriors  came. 
And  the  stalwart  Earl  of  Fife 
Led  his  vassals  to  the  strife — 


50  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 

Full  a  thousand  fighting-men, 
Strong  of  hand  and  sharp  of  ken, 
And  ready  each  to  die  at  the  bidding  of  his  lord  ; 
But  readier  still  for  Scotland  to  draw  the  avenging 
sword. 


XIV. 

From  his  northern  mountains  and  his  lochs  afar 

March'd  the  Earl  of  Caithness,  ready  aye  for  war, 

With  his  pibroch  sounding  shrill 

To  his  clansmen  of  the  hill ; 

And  the  Earl  of  March,  new  wed, 

Left  his  happy  bridal  bed 

At  the  first  war-cry  of  danger  that  broke  upon  his 

ears, 
And  join'd  King  Alexander,  with  twice  a  thousand 


XV. 

Thirsting  for  the  conquest,  eager  for  the  fray, 

Haco  sail'd  by  Arran  at  the  dawn  of  day ; 

But  as  up  the  Eirth  of  Clyde 

He  came  proudly  with  the  tide, 

Bose  a  storm  upon  the  deep. 

And  with  wild  and  fitful  sweep 

Howl'd  aloft  amid  the  rigging ;  while  the  sun  look'd 

pale  and  wan. 
Through  the  clouds  and  driving  vapours  as  the  tempest 

hurried  on. 


THE   INVASION   OF   THE   NORSEMEN.  51 

XVI. 

To  tlie  sliip  of  Haco  came  his  stancliest  men — 

Holder,  Sweno,  Ratho^  Hingst,  and  Innisfen, 

Irminsule,  and  Loke  and  Harr, 

Eacli  a  chieftain  fierce  in  war ; 

In  the  foray,  hand  to  hand. 

On  the  sea  or  on  the  land  ; 

Loving  fighting  more  than  counsel,  blazing  torch  than 

morning  shine ; 
The  foremost  in  the  battle,  and  the  hindmost  at  the 


XVII. 

Short  was  Haco's  counsel,  and  the  signal  flew 

From  captain  on  to  captain,  from  crew  again  to  crew, 

That  by  Largs,  ere  noon  of  day, 

They  should  land  within  the  bay, — 

And  through  all  the  ships  there  ran 

A  rejoicing,  man  with  man. 

That  the  hour  had  come  at  last,  when  the  sword  should 

leave  its  sheath. 
And  the  cloth-yard  shaft  its  quiver  for  the  revelry  of 

death. 

XVIII. 

Scotland's  king  was  ready — Scotland's  patriot  men, 
Marshall'd  round  their  monarch  from  mountain,  strath, 

and  glen. 
And  from  every  height  around 
Seem'd  to  issue  from,  the  ground. 
E  2 


52  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

Thirty  thousand  men  that  day- 
Met  the  Norsemen  in  the  bay, 
And  fought,  but  not  for  pillage,  nor  for  glory  in  the 

strife. 
But  for  God  and  for  their  country — for  their  freedom 

and  their  life. 

XIX. 

Loud  the  shock  resounded  on  the  battle-field, 

Clink  of    sword    and   buckler,   clang   of    spear   and 

shield ; 
Whirr  of  arrows  in  the  blast, 
On  their  errand  flying  fast ; 
And  a  shouting  loud  and  high, 
And  a  shrill  continuous  cry. 
From  either   side   arising,    as   th'  impetuous  legions 

met, 
And  the  green  fresh  sward  was  trodden  deep,  and 

dank,  and  gory-wet. 

XX. 

Loud  the  voice  of  Haco  sounded  'mid  the  fray, 
Alexander's  louder  cheer'd  the  Scots  that  day ; 
And  the  kings  press'd  on  to  meet, 
Through  the  arrows  thick  as  sleet, 
Through  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Holding  high  the  dauntless  head — 
To  fight  in  single  combat,  and  to  struggle  hand  to  hand, 
For  the  glory  of  the  battle  and  the  mastery  of  the 
land. 


THE   INVASION   OF   THE  NORSEMEN.  53 

XXI. 

And   the  fierce  Earl  Comyn  sought   tlie   Norseman 

Harr ; 
The  Bishop  singled  Ratho  from  the  ranks  of  war ; 
And  the  Earls  of  March  and  Fife, 
In  the  sharp-contested  strife, 
Fought  with  Irminsule  and  Loke, 
Thrust  for  thrust,  and  stroke  for  stroke  ; 
And  the  Earl  of  Caithness  drove  the  haughty  Innisfen 
Back  again  into  the  ocean  with  a  hundred  of  his  men. 

XXII. 

Harr  fell  deadly  wounded  by  the  Comyn's  blade ; 

Batho  fled  to  seaward,  faint  and  sore  dismay'd ; 

While  Loke,  with  mortal  wound, 

Fell  exhausted  on  the  ground, 

And  Hingst  sank  down  to  rest 

With  the  death-shaft  in  his  breast ; 

When  a  sudden  panic  seized  on  the  whole  ISTorwegian 

foe. 
And  they  fled  like  flying  dust,  when  the  Norland 

tempests  blow. 

XXIII. 

Down  upon  them  swooping  in  their  sudden  rout, 
Came  King  Alexander  with  exulting  shout — 
Crying,  "  Strike  for  Scotland's  sake, 
And  a  bloody  vengeance  take 
For  the  insult  borne  too  long — 
For  the  centuries  oi  wrong, — 


54  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

For  the  murder  and  the  ravage  they  have  done  within 

our  lands ; — 
Down  upon  them,  Scottish  hearts  !  Strike,  and  spare 

not,  Scottish  hands !" 

XXIV. 

Fighting,  flying,  struggling — with  his  scatter'd  host 
Haco  saw,  despairing,  that  the  day  was  lost. 
Of  his  twenty  thousand  men 
Not  a  third  were  left  him  then. 
The  fearful  tale  to  tell 
Of  the  slaughter  that  befel ; 

And  Haco,  iron-hearted,  who  had  never  wept  before, 
With  his  hands  his  pale  face  cover'd,  and  sobb'd  upon 
the  shore. 

XXV. 

Flying  their  pursuers,  faint,  with  pallid  lips, 

Haco  and  his  captains  stagger'd  to  their  ships  j 

And  ere  nightfall,  many  a  one. 

That  had  sail'd  when  day  begun 

As  if  life  were  in  her  sides 

To  defy  the  winds  and  tides. 

Was  driven  before  the  tempest,  her  tall  mast  snapp'd 

in  twain, 
A  helpless  wreck  on  Arran,  ne'er  to  sail  the  seas  again. 

XXVI. 

Through  the  Kyles,  storm-batter'd,  Haco  held  his  way, 
By  Cantyre  and  Islay  on  to  Colonsay  : 


THE   INVASION   OF  THE  NORSEMEN.  55 

And  when  dawn'd  the  morning  light 

Not  a  vessel  was  in  sight, 

But  his  own  ship  scudding  by 

On  the  gloomy  shore  of  Skye, 

Dismantled 'mid  the  hurricane  that  still  around  him  blew, 

With  danger  all  around  him  and  a  spirit-broken  crew 

XXVII. 

Thus  he  sail'd  to  Orkney ;  but  by  night  nor  day, 

To  his  men  around  him,  did  one  word  betray 

All  the  anguish  of  his  heart — 

Though  at  times  a  sudden  start, 

And  a  short  uneasy  pace. 

And  the  flushing  of  his  face, 

Show'd  the  grief  and  rage  within  him,  as  he  mourn'd 

with  silent  lips 
For  his  hope  of  conquest  lost,  for  his  sailors  and  his 


XXVIII. 

Id  the  bay  of  Kirkwall,  shelter  d  from  the  gale, 

His  sad  crew  dropp'd  their  anchor,  and  fuiTd  the 

tatter'd  sail. 
And  the  King  was  led  on  shore. 
Weak,  and  faint,  and  spirit-sore. 
Seeing — heeding — knowing  nought 
But  his  own  despairing  thought — 
A  thought  of  bitter  shame,  that  he  had  not  died  that 

day. 
With  his  face  towards  the  mountains,  in  the  thickest 

of  the  fray. 


56  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

XXIX. 

To  his  couch  they  led  him,  once  so  bold  and  strong, 

And  they  watch'd  beside  him  tenderly  and  long ; 

But  all  human  care  was  vain 

To  relieve  him  of  his  pain  : 

So  the  mighty  Haco  died 

In  his  sorrow  and  his  pride, 

And   they  buried   him   in  Orkney ;    and  Norsemen 

never  more 
Set  sail  to  harry  Scotland,  or  plunder  on  her  shore. 


—^Cii^i^^^efita^^^iT- 


THE  EVE  OF  FLODDEN.  57 


THE  EVE  OF  ELODDEN. 

[•*  In  the  church  of  Linlithgow  is  shown  the  aisle  where  an  apparition 
burst  upon  the  sight  of  James  IV.,  to  warn  him  against  the  expedition, 
and  which,  as  Lindsay  of  Pitscottie  relates,  as  soon  as  it  had  delivered  its 
message,  'vanished  like  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the  whirlwind.* 
When  the  invading  army  was  encamped  upon  the  Boroughmuir,  numberless 
midnight  apparitions  did  squeak  and  gibber  upon  the  streets  of  Edinburgh, 
threatening  woe  to  the  kingdom,  and  there  was  a  spectral  procession  of 
heralds,  who  advanced  to  the  Cross,  and  summoned  the  king  and  a  long 
list  of  nobility  to  their  final  doom."] 


Who  are  these  so  dim  and  wan, 
Haggard,  gaunt,  and  woe-begone ! 
Who  in  suits  of  silvery  mail 
Wander  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
Through  Dunedin's  narrow  street. 

Sad  and  slow, 
And  with  mournful  voice  repeat. 

Singing  low — 
"Dim  the  night,  but  dark  the  morrow — 
Long  shall  last  the  coming  sorrow, — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  I" 

II. 

Helm  on  head  and  sword  in  hand, 
Whence  this  melancholy  band? 
Even  the  banner  that  they  bear 
Droops  dejected  on  the  air, 


58  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

As  they  walk  with  noiseless  tread 
To  and  fro, 

And  the  sleeper  from  his  bed 
Itises  slow, 

Listening  to  that  chant  of  sorrow — 

"Dim  the  night,  but  dark  the  morrow — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe ! 


HI. 

What  they  are,  and  their  intent — 

Whence  they  come,  and  whither  bent — 

If  they  come  from  kirkyard  cold, 

Or  are  men  of  mortal  mould, 

"No  one  knows; — but  all  night  long, 

As  they  go. 
There  is  heard  a  doleful  song. 

Clear,  but  low, — 
"  Deep  the  grief  that's  now  beginning, 
Scotland's  loss  is  England's  winning — 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  1" 


IV. 

Never  yet  Dunedin's  street 
Saw  such  ghastly  warriors  meet. 
Now  upon  the  Cross  they  stay; 
And  a  radiance  clear  as  day. 
When  the  day  is  dim  and  chill. 

Seems  to  glow 
All  around;  and  from  the  hill 

Overflow 


THE   EVE   OF   FLODDEK  59 

Gable^  tower,  and  steeple-crosses, 
And  the  lonely  wynds  and  closes : — 

"  Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  ! " 


V. 

One  steps  forward  from  the  rest, 
Stately,  gaunt,  and  richly  dress'd; 
And  they  form  a  circle  round, 
Sadly  looking  to  the  ground ; 
And  a  summons  loud  and  shrill 

Sounds  below, 
Downwards  from  the  Calton  Hill 

Passing  slow; 
Then  a  trumpet-call  to  rally 
Echoes  over  mount  and  valley — 

«Woe  to  Scotland,  woe!" 


VI. 

Then  the  ling'ring  echoes  die 
Faint  and  fainter  on  the  sky, 
And  the  spokesman  of  the  band 
Raises  high  his  mail'd  right  hand, 
And  exclaims  with  earnest  voice, 

Speaking  slow : 
"  Long  will  Scotland's  foes  rejoice  : — 

Hearts  shall  glow 
At  recital  of  our  story. 
And  of  Scotland's  faded  glory. 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe !" 


60  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


VIL 


"  Nought  shall  bravely  avail  ; 
Dust  before  the  wild  March  gale 
Flies  not  faster  than  shall  fly 
Scotland's  proudest  chivalry, 
Koyal  Stuart,  when  thy  might 

Stricken  low, 
Shall  be  scatter'd  in  the  fight 

By  the  foe, 
And  thy  fairest  ranks  be  trodden 
On  the  bloody  field  of  Flodden. 

Woe  to  Scotland,  woe ! 

VIII. 

"  Crawford,  Huntley,  and  Montrose ! 
Loud  your  shrill  war- trumpet  blows ; — 
Home  and  Bothwell !  high  in  air 
Flaunt  your  banners  free  and  fair; — 
Lennox  !  well  your  stalwart  men 

Wield  the  bow; — 
Fierce  and  fleet  from  hill  and  glen 

On  the  foe. 
From  wild  Cowal  to  the  Grampians, 
Rush,  Argyll !  your  stoutest  champions  ; — 
Woe  to  Scotland,  woe ! 


IX. 

"  But  in  vain  shall  they  unite ; 
And  in  vain  their  swords  shall  smite; 


THE   EVE   OF   FLODDEN".  6t 

And  in  vain  their  chiefs  shall  lead; 
Yainly,  vainly  shall  they  bleed ; — 
England's  hosts  shall  smite  tliem  down 

At  a  blow, 
And  our  country's  ancient  crown 

Be  laid  low  ; 
And  for  warrior's  death-cold  sleeping 
Long  shall  last  the  wail  and  weeping — 

Woe  to  Scotland  woe  !" 


X. 

Thus  he  speaks,  and  glides  away, 
Melting  in  the  moonlight  *gray  : 
And  the  pale  knights  follow  on 
Through  the  darkness,  and  are  gone. 
But  all  night  is  heard  the  wail 

E-ising  slow. 
As  the  pauses  of  the  gale 

Come  and  go, — 
"Dim  the  night  and  dark  the  morrow; 
Long  shall  last  the  coming  sorrow — 

"Woe  to  Scotland,  woe  !" 


— — *^^SS%5^55:^S:^^*— 


62  LEGENDS  OF  THE  ISLES. 


THE  KELPIE  OF  COERYYEECKAK 


[This  story  is  a  common  one  in  the  Western  Isles,  and  among  all  the 
northern  nations  of  Europe.  Some  of  the  incidents  bear  a  resemblance  to 
the  Danish  ballad  of  *'  The  Wild  Waterman,"  a  translation  of  which  was 
made  into  German,  by  Goethe.] 


He  mounted  his  steed  of  the  water  clear, 
And  sat  on  his  saddle  of  sea- weed  sere; 
He  held  his  bridle  of  strings  of  pearl, 
Dug  out  of  the  depths  where  the  sea-snakes  curl. 

IL 

He  put  on  his  vest  of  the  whirlpool  froth, 
Soft  and  dainty  as  velvet  cloth, 
And  donn'd  his  mantle  of  sand  so  white, 
And  grasp'd  his  sword  of  the  coral  bright. 

IIL 

And  away  he  gallop'd,  a  horseman  free. 
Spurring  his  steed  through  the  stormy  sea, 
Clearing  the  billows  with  bound  and  leap — 
Away,  away,  o'er  the  foaming  deep ! 


THE  KELPIE   OF   CORRYVRECKAN.  63 


By  Scarba's  rock,  by  Lunga's  sbore, 
By  Garvelocli  isles  where  the  breakers  roar, 
"With  his  horse's  hoofs  he  dash'd  the  spray. 
And  on  to  Loch  Buy,  away,  away ! 


On  to  Loch  Buy  all  day  he  rode, 
And  reach'd  the  shore  as  sunset  glow'd. 
And  stopp'd  to  hear  the  sounds  of  joy 
That  rose  from  the  hills  and  glens  of  Moy. 

Vi. 

The  morrow  was  May,  and  on  the  green 
They'd  lit  the  fire  of  Beltan  E'en, 
And  danced  around,  and  piled  it  high 
With  peat  and  heather  and  pine-logs  dry. 

A  piper  play'd  a  lightsome  reel. 
And  timed  the  dance  with  toe  and  heel ; 
While  wives  look'd  on,  as  lad  and  lass 
Trod  it  merrily  o'er  the  grass. 

vin. 

And  Jessie  (fickle  and  fair  was  she) 
Sat  with  Evan  beneath  a  tree, 
And  smiled  with  mingled  love  and  pride, 
And  half  aojreed  to  be  his  bride. 


64  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 

IX. 

The  Kelpie  gallop'd  o'er  the  green — 
He  seem'd  a  knight  of  noble  mien, 
And  old  and  young  stood  up  to  see, 
And  wonder'd  who  the  knight  could  be. 


His  flowing  locks  were  auburn  bright. 
His  cheeks  were  ruddy,  his  eyes  flash'd  light; 
And  as  he  sprang  from  his  good  gray  steed, 
He  look'd  a  gallant  youth  indeed. 

XI. 

And  Jessie's  fickle  heart  beat  high. 
As  she  caught  the  stranger's  glancing  eye; 
And  when  he  smiled,  "  Ah  well,"  thought  she, 
"  I  wish  this  knight  came  courting  me  l'* 

XII. 

He  took  two  steps  towards  her  seat — 
"Wilt  thou  be  mine,  O  maiden  sweet?" 
He  took  her  lily-white  hand,  and  sigh'd, 
"Maiden,  maiden,  be  my  bride !" 

XIII. 

And  Jessie  blush'd,  and  whisper'd  soft — 
"  Meet  me  to-night  when  the  moon 's  aloft ; — ■ 
I've  dream'd,  fair  knight,  long  time  of  thee — 
I  thought  thou  earnest  courtin«f  me." 


THE   KELPIE   OF   CORRYVRECKAN.  65 

XTV. 

When  the  moon  her  yellow  horn  display'd, 
Alone  to  the  trysting  went  the  maid ; 
When  all  the  stars  were  shining  bright, 
Alone  to  the  trysting  went  the  knight. 

XV. 

"  I  have  loved  thee  long,  I  have  loved  thee  well, 
Maiden,  oh  more  than  words  can  tell ! 
Maiden,  thine  eyes  like  diamonds  shine; 
Maiden,  maiden,  be  thou  mine !" 

XVL 

**rair  sir,  thy  suit  I'll  ne'er  deny — 
Though  poor  my  lot,  my  hopes  are  high ; 
I  scorn  a  lover  of  low  degree — 
I^one  but  a  knight  shall  marry  me," 

XVII. 

He  took  her  by  the  hand  so  white. 
And  gave  her  a  ring  of  the  gold  so  bright ; 
"  Maiden,  whose  eyes  like  diamonds  shine — 
Maiden,  maiden,  now  thou'rt  mine !" 

XVIII. 

He  lifted  her  up  on  his  steed  of  gray. 
And  they  rode  till  morning  away,  away — 
Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  moor, 
And  over  the  rocks,  to  the  dark  sea-shore. 
F  I 


66  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

XIX. 

"We  have  ridden  east,  we  have  ridden  west — 
Tm  weary,  fair  knight,  and  I  fain  would  rest. 
Say,  is  thy  dwelling  beyond  the  sea? 
Hast  thou  a  good  ship  waiting  for  me  f ' 

XX. 

"I  have  no  dwelling  beyond  the  sea, 
I  have  no  good  ship  waiting  for  thee  : 
Thou  shalt  sleep  with  me  on  a  couch  of  foam, 
And  the  depths  of  the  ocean  shall  be  thy  home." 

XXI. 

The  gray  steed  plunged  in  the  billows  clear, 
And  the  maiden's  shrieks  were  sad  to  hear. 
"  Maiden,  whose  eyes  like  diamonds  shine — 
Maiden,  maiden,  now  thou'rt  mine  1" 

XXIL 

Loud  the  cold  sea-blast  did  blow, 
As  they  sank  'mid  the  angry  waves  below — 
Down  to  the  rocks  where  the  serpents  creep, 
Twice  five  hundred  fathoms  deep. 

XXIII. 

At  mom  a  fisherman  sailing  by 
Saw  her  pale  corse  floating  high  : 
He  knew  the  maid  by  her  yellow  hair 
And  her  lily  skin  so  soft  and  fair. 


THE  KELPIE  OF  CORRYVRECKAN.         G7 
XXIV. 

Under  a  rock  on  Scarba's  shore, 
Where  the  wild  winds  sigh  and  the  breakers  roar, 
They  dug  her  a  grave  by  the  water  clear, 
Among  the  sea-weed  salt  and  sere. 

XXV. 

And  every  year,  at  Beltan  E'en, 
The  Kelpie  gallops  across  the  green, 
On  a  steed  as  fleet  as  the  wintry  wind, 
With  Jessie's  mournful  ghost  behind. 

XXVI. 

I  warn  you,  maids,  whoever  you  be, 
Beware  of  pride  and  vanity ; 
And  ere  on  change  of  love  you  reckon, 
Beware  the  Kelpie  of  Corryvreckan. 


P  2 


QS  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


LORD  NITHSDALE'S  DJIEAM  IN  THE  TOWER  OF 
LONDON. 

[In  the  notes  to  Cromek's  Remains  of  Nithsdale  and  Galloway  Song 
will  be  found  the  full  particulars  of  Lord  Nithsdale's  escape  narrated 
in  the  simple  and  touching  language  of  Winifred  Lady  Nithsdale,  in  a 
letter  to  her  sister.] 

I. 

"  Farewell  to  thee,  Winifred,  dearest  and  best  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  wife  of  a  courage  so  high  ! 
Come  hither,  and  nestle  again  in  my  breast, 

Come  hither,  and  kiss  me  again  ere  I  die  ! 
And  when  I  am  laid  bleeding  and  low  in  the  dust, 

And  yield  my  last  breath  at  a  tyrant's  decree, 
Look  up — be  resigned — and  the  God  of  the  just 

Will  shelter  thy  fatherless  children  and  thee." 

IL 

She  wept  on  his  breast,  but,  ashamed  of  her  fears, 

She    dash'd  off  the   drops    that    ran   warm   down 
her  cheek — 
"  Be  sorrow  for  those  who  have  leisure  for  tears, 

Oh,  pardon  thy  wife,  that  her  soul  was  so  weak  ! 
There  is  hope  for  us  still,  and  I  will  not  despair. 

Though  cowards  and  traitors  exult  at  thy  fate  ; 
ril  show  the  oppressors  what  woman  can  dare — 

I'll  show  them  that  love  can  be  stronger  than  hate." 


LOnC  NITHSDALE  S  DREAM. 


LORD   NITHSDALE's   DREAM.  GO 

III. 

Lip   to   lip — heart    to    heart — and    their    fond    arms 
entwined — 
He  has  clasp'd  her  again,  and  again,  and  again  ; — 
"Farewell  to  thee,  Winifred,  pride  of  thy  kind, 

Sole  ray  in  my  darkness — sole  joy  in  my  pain." 
She  has  gone  !    He  has  heard  the  last  sound  of  her 
tread — 
He  has  caught  the  last  glimpse  of  her  robes  at  the 
door 
She  has  gone !  and  the  joy  that  her  presence  had  shed, 
Will  cheer  the    sad  heart    of  Lord   Mthsdale  no 
more. 


rv. 

The  prisoner  pray'd  in  his  dungeon  alone. 

And  thought  of  the  morn  and  its  dreadful  array  ; 
Then  rested  his  head  on  his  pillow  of  stone, 

And  slumber'd  an  hour  ere  the  dawning  of  day. 
Oh,  balm  of  the  weary  ! — oh,  soother  of  pain  1 

That  still  to  the  sad  givest  pity  and  dole, 
How  gently,  O  Sleep,  lay  thy  wings  on  his  brain ! 

How  sweet  were  thy  dreams  to  his  desolate  soul  1 


V. 

Once  more  on  his  gi'een  native  braes  of  the  Nith 
He  plucked  the  wild  breckan,  a  frolicsome  boy; 

He  sported  his  limbs  in  the  waves  of  the  frith  ; 
He  trod  the  green  heather  in  gladness  and  joy ; 


70  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

On  liis  gallant  gray  steed  to  the  hunting  he  rode — 
In  his  bonnet  a  plume,  on  his  bosom  a  star — 

And  chased  the  red-deer  to  its  mountain  abode, 
And  track'd  the  wild  roe  to  its  covert  afar. 

VL 

The  vision  has  changed  ; — in  a  midsummer  night 

He  roam'd  with  his  Winifred  blooming  and  young  ; 
He  gazed  on  her  face  by  the  moon's  mellow  light, 

And  loving  and  warm    were    the    words    on    his 
tongue ; 
Through  good  and  through  evil  he  swore  to  be  true, 

And  love  through  all  fortune  his  Winnie  alone — 
And  he  saw  the  red  blush  o'er  her  cheek  as  it  flew, 

And   heard   her   sweet   voice   that  replied    to   his 
own. 

VIL 

Once  more  it  has  changed  ;  in  his  martial  array 
Lo !    he  rode   at   the   head   of  his   gallant   young 
men, 
For  the  pilroch  was  heard  on  the  hills  far  away, 
And  the  clans  were  all  gathered  from  mountain 
and  glen. 
For  the  darling  of  Scotland,  their  exile  adored  ; 
They  raised  the  loud  slogan — they  rushed  to  the 
strife, 
Unfurl'd  was  the  banner — unsheathed  was  the  sword. 
For  the  cause  of  their  heart,  that  was  dearer  than 
life. 


LORD   NITHSD ale's   DREAM.  71 


VIIL 


Again — and  the  vision  was  lost  to  his  sight ; 

But  the  phantom  that  followed  was  darksome  and 
dread — 
The  morn  of  his  doom  had  succeeded  the  night, 

And  a  priest  by  his  side  said  the  prayers  for  the  dead. 
He  heard  the  dull  sound  of  the  slow  muffled  drum, 

And  the  hoarse  sullen  boom  of  the  death-tolling  bell. 
The  block  was  prepared  and  the  headsman  had  come, 

And   the    victim,    bareheaded,  walked   forth  from 
his  cell. 

IX. 

'No  !  no  !  'twas  but  fancy — ^his  hour  was  not  yet — 

And,  waking,  he  turned  on  his  pallet  of  straw, 
And  a  form  by  his  side  he  could  never  forget, 

By  the  pale  misty  light  of  a  taper  he  saw; 

'•"Tis  I— 'tis  thy  Winifred  !"— softly  she  said, 

"  Arouse  thee,  and  follow — be  bold — never  fear  ; 
There  was  danger  abroad,  but  my  errand  has  sped — 

I  promised  to  save  thee,  and  lo — I  am  here ! " 

X. 

He  rose  at  the  summons  ;  but  little  they  spoke ; — 

The  gear  of  a  lady  she  placed  on  his  head ; 
She  covered  his  limbs  with  a  womanly  cloak. 

And  painted  his  cheeks  of  a  maidenly  red. 
"  One  kiss,  my  dear  lord — and  begone — and  beware — 

Walk  softly — I  follow  !     O  !  guide  us  and  save 
From  the  open  assault,  from  the  intricate  snare. 

Thou  Providence,  friend  of  the  suffering  brave  !" 


72  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

XI. 

They  passed  unsuspected  the  guard  at  the  cell, 

And  the  sentinels  weary  that  watched  at  the  gate ; 
One  danger  remained — but  they  conquer'd  it  well — 

Another — and  Love  triumphed  still  over  Hate. 
And  long  ere  the  morning,  their  ship  was  at  sea, 
Sailing  down  with  fair  winds,  far  away  from  the 
shore. 
To  the  land  of  the  Gaul,  where  their  hearts  might 
be  free, 
And  the  quarrels   of  monarchs   disturb   them  no 
more. 


t-^c><iX^lQfXi>'^5'N^ 


TUE  SHOAL  OF   WHALES.  73 


THE  SHOAL  OF  WHALES. 


Calm  and  unruffled  is  the  bay, 
There  is  not  even  a  breath  at  play, 
To  make  a  ripple  in  the  sun, 
That  since  this  summer  day  begun. 
Has  shown  the  Hebridean  isles 
A  cloudless  visage,  bright  with  smiles. 
On  the  low  rocks  that  fringe  the  sea. 
The  brown  dulse  welters  lazily ; 
The  seagulls  hovering,  milky  white. 
Display  their  pinions  to  the  light. 
And  dart  and  wheel  with  sudden  cry, 
Or  drop  like  snow-flakes  from  the  sky. 

IL 

The  minister  is  in  the  manse, 

His  open  Bible  on  his  knees; 
His  daughters  in  the  garden  walk, 

And  prune  their  stunted  apple-trees. 

By  high  walls  shelter'd  from  the  breeze. 
That  comes  salt-laden  from  the  beach  ; 
Or  lift  the  tender  floweret's  stalk 

Which  rains  have  beaten  to  the  ground; 
Or  guard  their  solitary  peach 

From  birds,  by  network  round. 


74  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

IIL 

The  fishers  wife  beside  her  door 
Sits  mending  nets,  and  crooning  o'er 

Some  old  sad  Gaelic  lay ; 
And  children  paddle  in  the  brine, 
Or  watch  the  fair  white  sails  that  shine 

In  sunlight  o'er  the  bay, 
Or  hide  and  seek  'mid  boats  that  lie 
Keel  upwards,  on  the  beach  to  dry. 

IV. 

Peace  broods  upon  that  Western  isle ; — 

When  a  lone  fisher  on  the  sand, 
Loitering  along  with  vacant  smile. 

Suddenly  stops,  and  with  his  hand 
Shades  his  face  from  the  light  of  the  skies, 
And  summons  his  soul  into  his  eyes, 
To  look  if  his  sight  deceives  him  not ; — 

Lo  ! — there  ! — where  sky  and  ocean  blend  ! — 
He  fixes  his  gaze  upon  the  spot — 

The  glittering  cascades  ascend 
Twenty  feet  high — then  rustle  down 
On  the  backs  of  the  monsters,  bare  and  brown  ; 
Again — and  again — he  sees  them  roll — 
There  are  whales  in  the  bay — A  shoal !  A  shoal ! 

V. 

In  the  fulness  of  his  joy,  his  face 
Keddens — and  his  quick  eager  shout. 

Echoing  over  that  silent  place. 
Calls  the  inquiring  people  out. 


THE   SHOAL   OF   WHALES.  75 

"  The  whales  ! "  he  cries — and  to  behold 
Come  the  youthful  and  the  old ; 
Come  the  feeble  and  the  strong  ; 

Men  and  women  and  girls ;  with  boys, 
That  whether  for  right,  or  whether  for  wrong, 

Delight  in  the  tumult  and  the  noise ; 
Rushing  down  with  trampling  feet, 
And  cries  that  the  echoing  hills  repeat. 


VI. 

And  now  the  uproar  thicker  grows  — 
From  side  to  side  the  clapper  goes 
In  the  kirk  bell,  as  if  its  power 
Had  been  redoubled  for  this  hour ; 
As  if  in  such  a  cause  inspired. 

It  summon'd  with  gladness  all  the  flock ; 
And  flags  are  waved,  and  guns  are  fired, 

And  bonfires  kindled  on  the  rock  ; 
And  that  lone  isle  of  the  Western  sea 
Prepares  for  a  day  of  jubilee. 


VII. 

"  Leviathan  !  Leviathan  1 " 

The  minister  cries,  and  shuts  his  book ; 
And  though  a  man  of  peace  is  he. 
As  a  preacher  of  the  Word  should  be. 

He  takes  his  musket  from  a  nook, 
Rusty  and  old ;  and  hastes  away 
To  join  his  people  in  the  bay. 


76  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLE3. 

VIII. 

His  daughters  fair  have  saddled  their  steeds, 

Two  young  ponies  sleek  and  brown  ; 
And  with  flashing  eyes  and  streaming  hair, 

And  heads  uncover'd,  have  galloped  down 
To  see  the  sport — perchance  to  share. 
Old  men  have  left  their  usual  place 
By  warm  firesides,  to  join  the  chase, 
And  one  bedridden,  half-crazy  soul 

Has  started  up  at  the  people's  roar, 
And  the  joyous  cry  "  a  shoal  !  a  shoal !  " 

And  hobbled  on  crutches  to  the  door, 
To  envy  the  limbs  of  the  passers-by, 
And  watch  the  sport  with  kindling  eye. 

IX. 

The  women  have  left  their  spinning-wheels, 

Their  hose,  their  nets,  their  fishing-creels. 

And  arm'd  themselves  with  pikes  and  staves 

To  follow  the  monsters  of  the  waves. 

Fifty  boats  at  least  are  ready — 

With  rowers  strong  and  helmsmen  steady, 

To  drive  the  whales  into  shallow  water. 

And  dye  the  beach  with  the  blood  of  slaughter. 


Merrily  ring  the  bells — 
Merrily  wave  the  flags — 

Merrily  shout  the  people 
That  watch  upon  the  crags. 


THE   SHOAL   OF  WHALES.  77 

Merrily  row  the  boats — 

Merrily  swell  the  sails — 
And  merrily  go  the  islanders 

To  chase  the  mighty  whales. 
And  quietly  prays  the  preacher 

For  a  blessing  and  reward 
Upon  harpoon  and  musket, 

Upon  the  spear  and  sword, 
That  shall  slay  the  great  Leviathan, 

For  the  glory  ot  the  Lord. 


XL 

And  steady — steady — steady — 

Until  their  backs  appear ; 
And  ready — ready — ready — 

With  the  musket  and  the  spear ! 
Behold  the  spouts  upheaving, 
Their  sides  the  water  cleaving — 
A  shot  is  fired — and  a  sudden  roar 
Proclaims  approval  on  the  shore  ; 
And  barb'd  harpoons  with  lengthening  twine 
Are  launch'd  unerring  o'er  the  brine. 
And  the  water-spouts,  that  a  minute  ago 
Were  clear  as  the  discongealing  snow, 
Hise  ruddy  in  air  like  founts  of  wine ; — 
And  the  wounded  whales,  in  their  agony, 
Plunge  in  fury  through  the  sea. 
And  lash  the  waters  into  froth, 
Blood-crimson'd  by  their  pain  and  wrath. 


78  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

XII. 

In  vain  ye  struggle — luckless  whales  ; — 
Your  numbers  were  a  score — 

But  ten  of  you  shall  not  escape 
To  swim  the  salt  seas  more. 

For  ye  have  come  to  a  needy  land, 
And  to  a  perilous  shore, 

Where  they  will  turn  your  bones  to  wealth- 
Make  coinage  of  your  spoil. 

And  give  their  virgins  when  they  wed 
A  dowry  of  your  oil ; — 

Where  men  will  sit  around  their  hearths, 
Eeposing  from  their  toil, 

And  long  that  every  day  may  see 

Such  slaughter  and  such  revelry. 


Again — again — the  muskets  ring, 
And  scare  the  sea-birds  on  the  wing; 
And  not  a  shot  is  fired  this  day 
That  fails  to  reach  its  mark — and  slay. 
Strong  hands  impel  the  heavy  spear, 

Or  drive  the  double-edged  harpoon ; 
And  the  fair  bay,  whose  waters  clear 

Were  stainless  underneath  the  moon, 
Shall  roll  to-night  a  darker  flood. 
And  see  its  billows  streak'd  with  blood. 

XIV. 

'  Tis  done — the  unequal  strife  is  o'er — 
The  dying  whales  are  driven  ashore  j 


THE   SHOAL   OF   WHALES.  7§ 

And  long  ere  setting  of  the  sun, 
Their  carcasses  are  haiil'd  to  land  ; 
Where,  stretch'd  unwieldy  on  the  sand, 

Men  count  the  prizes  they  have  won  ; — 
Twelve  monsters  huge,  whose  bones  shall  bring 

Enjoyment  for  the  wintry  nights, 
Whose  oil  shall  make  the  wretched  sing, 

And  fill  the  needy  with  delights. 
And  round  about  the  children  go, 
With  gladness  fill'd  to  overflow, 
To  hear  the  joyous  bells  resound. 
And  see  the  bonfires  blazing  round. 

XV. 

This  night  shall  mirth  be  unrestrain'd, 
Its  blood  in  quicker  pulses  driven  ; 

And  many  a  flowing  cup  be  drain'd. 
And  many  a  loving  pledge  be  given  ; 

And  even  the  minister  himself 

Shall  lay  his  Bible  on  the  shelf, 

And  join  his  elders  o'er  a  bowl 

To  drink  a  welcome  to  the  shoal. 

And  every  dweller  in  the  isle 

Shall  hold  a  festival  the  while, 

And  mark  in  memory's  tablets  clear. 

This  day  the  fairest  of  the  year. 


60  LEGENDS   OP  THE  ISLES. 


THE  WITCH  OF  SKERRIEYOEE. 


"  "We  were  sisters,  sisters  seven — 
The  fairest  women  under  heaven ; 
One  was  calm,  serene,  and  fair — 
One  had  locks  of  auburn  hair — 
One  had  lips  like  parted  cherries — 
One  had  cheeks  like  autumn  berries- 
One  had  eyes  where  pity  glow'd — 
One  a  smile  where  love  abode ; 
Comely,  ruddy,  graceful,  tall ; 
And  I  the  fairest  of  them  all. 

IL 

"  Oh  my  sisters  ! — sisters  sweet, 
Dancing  with  their  nimble  feet, 
Mingling  voices  all  the  day 
In  a  happy  roundelay. 
Wreathing  flowers  to  bind  their  hair. 
With  their  smiles  dispelling  care. 
Scattering  pleasures  as  they  went, 
To  the  world's  en  ravishment, 
Oh  my  sisters  !  oh  their  fall ; 
Love  destroy'd  them  one  and  all ! 


THE   WITCH   OF   SKERRIEVORE.  81 

IIL 

*'  Fairest  blossoms  of  our  clime, 
They  were  blighted  ere  their  time  : 
One  was  sear'd  by  slander's  breaths- 
One,  too  loving,  pined  to  death — 
One,  deceived,  and  smitten  low, 
In  her  madness  lost  her  woe — 
One,  we  thought  a  maiden  mild, 
In  her  frenzy  slew  her  child — 
One,  with  hopes  and  passions  strong, 
Lived  for  vengeance,  but  not  long : 
I  alone  escaped  their  fall^- 
I  alone,  amid  them  all. 

IV. 

"  Never  have  I  loved  a  man ; 
ITever  will  I — never  can; 
Smile,  nor  tear,  nor  passion-word 
Never  yet  my  heart  has  stirr'd ; 
Never  shall  they :  Hate  is  free — 
Love  abides  in  slavery. 
I  have  other  joys  than  this, 
Hotter  pleasures,  fiercer  bliss, 
As  upon  the  winds  I  go. 
Flying,  floating  to  and  fro ! 


"  Up  in  the  air !  up  in  the  air ! 
In  foul  weather,  and  in  fair. 

G 


82  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

I  have  made  a  compact  free 
With  the  sprites  of  air  and  sea, 
To  do  my  bidding  willingly. 
I  can  ride  the  fleetest  wind, 
And  leave  the  lazy  clouds  behind, 
Or  swim  the  surf  where  breakers  roar 
Amid  the  rocks  of  Skerrievore, 
Working  mischief  as  I  go, 
[Floating,  flying  to  and  fro ! 


VL 

"  Up  in  the  air !  up  in  the  air ! 

Before  the  watchman  is  aware, 

I  love  to  rattle  the  chimneys  down, 

And  rock  the  belfries  of  the  town ! 

Oh,  'tis  sweet  o'er  field  and  copse 

To  rush  from  the  barren  mountain-tops, 

To  strip  the  garden  of  flower  and  fruit. 

To  scatter  the  pine-trees  branch  and  root, 

To  loosen  the  wreaths  of  drifted  snow, 

And  roll  the  avalanche  below  ! 


VIL 

"  Oh,  'tis  sweet  to  ride  the  blast. 
To  rend  the  sail  from  the  creaking  mast, 
To  dash  the  billows  amid  the  shrouds, 
To  hide  the  moon  in  the  driving  clouds, 


THE   WITCH    OF   SKERRIEVORE,  83 

To  sweep  tlie  sailor  from  the  deck, 
And  cast  his  ship  on  the  rocks  a  wreck, 
And  drown  his  last  expiring  cry 
In  the  howl  of  tempests  rushing  by  ! 

VIII. 

"  Up  in  the  air !  up  in  the  air ! 

I  avenge  my  sisters  fair ; 

On  mankind  I  vent  my  wrath, 

Strewing  dangers  in  his  path. 

For  this  I've  made  a  compact  free 

With  the  powers  of  air  and  sea. 

That  I  shall  rue  eternally ! 

But  hate  is  joy — and  this  is  mine, 

To  ride  the  wind,  to  sail  the  brine, 

And  work  fierce  mischief  as  I  go, 

Moating,  flying  to  and  fro." 

IX. 

Ye  that  sail  the  stormy  seas 

Of  the  distant  Hebrides, 

By  Scarba's  rock,  and  Colonsay, 

And  old  lona's  Minster  gray, 

By  far  Tiree,  the  flow'ry  isle. 

And  Staffa's  wondrous  cave  and  pile, 

By  Jura,  with  her  treble  hills. 

And  Skye,  far  looming,  seam'd  with  rills, 

By  barren  Mull  and  Ulva's  shore. 

Beware  the  Witch  of  Skerrievore ! 


G  2 


84  LEGEi^DS   OF  THE  ISLES, 


THE  BURN  OF  ABEPJACHAN. 


I  LOVE,  oil  bonnie  Aberiachan, 

Thy  wild  and  tumbling  flood, 
So  gently  down  the  rocks  thou  leapest, 
So  softly  in  thy  linns  thou  sleepest, 

Such  silvery  bubbles  stud 
Thy  glancing  bosom,  and  so  green 

Grows  on  thy  back  each  birken  bough, 
I  never  saw  a  waterfall  ^ 

More  beautiful  than  thou. 


IL 

'Tis  true,  unlike  thy  roaring  neighbour, 

Thy  voice  is  sweet  and  low  : 
The  mighty  Foyers  speak  in  thunder — 
Thou  whisperest  thy  birch-trees  under. 

To  winds  that  o'er  thee  blow ; 
And  after  showers  of  spring-time  rain, 

When  every  bumie  bounds  along, 
Thy  voice,  so  musical  and  soft. 

But  swells  into  a  song. 


THE   BURN   OF  ABERIACHAN.  85 


III. 

Yet  more  than  Foyers,  grand  and  solemn, 

I  love  thy  limpid  face  : 
He  awes  us  by  his  power  and  splendour — 
Thou,  like  a  maiden  kind  and  tender, 

Subduest  by  thy  grace. 
And  in  the  sunny  summertime,' 

From  morn  to  night,   I  would  rejoice 
To  lie  upon  thy  flowery  banks, 

And  listen  to  thy  voice. 


IV. 

Or  underneath  thy  shelving  summits, 

Where  tufted  mosses  grow — 
Between  the  green  o'erhanging  birches, 
Where  all  day  long  the  lintie  perches, 

Mine  idle  limbs  I'd  throw : 
And  there  I'd  lie,  until  I  sank 

To  a  half-slumber,  'mid  the  trees, 
Lull'd  by  thy  confidential  talk. 

Or  murmur  of  thy  bees. 


V. 

Or  if  I  woke  to  dreams  of  fancy, 

Beneath  thy  steepest  fall 
I'd  sit,  and  weave  some  thoughtful  treasure 
Into  the  light  and  airy  measure. 

Of  chant  or  madrigal : — 


86  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

Or  haply,  in  some  genial  hour, 
Interpret  into  words  the  song 

Thou  singest  down  the  mountain  side, 
When  autumn  floods  are  strong — 


VI. 

Ev'n  all  the  secret  things  thou  breathest. 

From  thy  translucent  breast, 
To  the  high  mountains  cold  and  hoary, 
Or  the  calm  loch  that,  girt  with  glory, 

Keceives  thee  from  the  west ; — 
Thy  secret  hymn  of  thankfulness 

For  all  the  beauty  spread  around, 
Upon  the  loch,  upon  the  hills, 

Upon  the  pasture-ground. 


vn. 

I  know  thee,  bonnie  Aberiachan ! 

I  know  that  thou  canst  raise 
The  song  of  joy ;  and  that  thou  flowest 
With  cheerful  strength  where'er  thou  goest, 

Through  all  thy  hidden  ways. — 
Let  me  be  like  thee,  and  rejoice. 

That  if  no  Foyers  high  and  stroDg, 
I  still  can  lift  a  grateful  voice, 

And  glorify  in  song; 


THE   BURN   OF   ABERIACHAN.  87 

VIII. 

That  I  can  see  a  beauty  round  me, 

From  many  an  eye  conceal'd  ; 
That  Nature,  kind  to  those  who  love  her, 
Will  still  to  them  her  face  uncover, 

And  love  for  loving  yield. 
Let  me,  like  thee,  run  cheerily  on. 

And  sing  my  song,  though  none  may  hear ; 
Bewarded,  if  I  please  the  few, 

And  keep  a  current  clear. 


Aberiachan,  Loch  Ness, 

Inverness-shire,  1844. 


88  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 


THE  WEAITH  OF  GARRY  WATER. 


"  Go,  Evan  !   go  ; — the  heart  you  swore 
In  weal  and  woe  alike  to  cherish, 

You've  broken  by  your  cold  deceit, 

And  thrown  upon  the  world  to  perish. 

IL 

"A  woman's  curse  is  hard  to  bear — 
But  may  be  turn'd,  if  love  endeavour ; 

But  the  curse  of  a  man  with  hoary  hair, 
It  weighs  upon  the  soul  for  ever. 

in. 

"And  for  the  wrong  that  you  have  done. 
Upon  your  head  all  sorrow  gather. 

And  in  your  soul,  for  evermore. 
Deep  sink  the  curses  of  a  father ! " 

IV. 

The  old  man  bared  his  gray,  gray  head, 
And  clasp'd  his  wither'd  hands  together ; 

And  Evan  curl'd  his  lip  in  scorn. 

And  rode  his  way  across  the  heather. 


THE  WRAITH  OF  GARRY  WATER.         89 

V. 

"  Why  should  I  heed  this  dotard's  words  ? 

The  needle  from  the  pole  will  vary — 
And  time  will  wear  and  hearts  will  change; — 

I  love  no  more  his  bonnie  Mary. 

VI. 

"I  trust  that  happy  she  may  be, 
Nor  pine  with  sorrow  overladen ; 

And  she  may  love  another  man, 
And  I  will  love  another  maiden." 

VII 

The  night  was  fair — the  moon  was  up — 
The  wind  blew  low  among  the  gowans; 

Or  fitful  rose  o'er  Athol  woods, 

And  shook  the  berries  from  the  rowans. 

VIII. 

And  Evan  rode  through  Garry  strath, 

And  quite  forgot  the  old  man's  daughter; 

And  when  he  came  to  Garry  stream, 
It  ran  a  red  and  roaring  water. 

IX. 

The  summer  rains  had  fallen  fast. 

The  voice  of  streams  made  music  merry; 

And  brae-side  burnies  leap'd  and  danced, 
And  mingled  in  the  tide  of  Garry. 


90  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLES. 


And  Bruar  raised  a  joyful  shout, 
And  Tilt  to  Ben-Y-Gloe  resounded ; 

And  Tummel  in  the  pride  of  strength, 
Down  to  his  fall,  rejoicing,  bounded, 

XL 

Green  were  the  birks  on  Garry  braes, 

Soft  through  their  leaves  the  moon  was  peeping; 

And  'mid  the  heather  on  the  rock. 
There  sat  a  bonny  maiden  weeping. 

XIL 

Her  kirtle  seem'd  of  velvet  green ; 

Her  robes  were  azure,  loosely  flowing  ; 
Her  eyes  shone  bright  amid  her  tears ; 

Her  lips  were  fresh  as  gowans  growing. 

XIIL 

"What  brings  thee  here,  my  lily-flower? 

High  on  the  strath  the  storm-winds  tarry  ; 
The  night  is  chill — the  hour  is  late ; — 

Why  weep'st  thou  by  the  banks  of  Garry  ?" 

XIV. 

The  maiden  raised  her  tearful  eyes. 
And  with  her  silvery  voice  replying, 

Said,  smoothing  back  her  yellow  locks. 
And  speaking  low  and  softly  sighing  : — 


THE  WRAITH  OF  GARRY  WATER,         91 
XV. 

"  Thougli  dark  and  swift  the  waters  pour, 
Yet  here  I  wait  in  dool  and  sorrow ; 

For  bitter  fate  must  I  endure, 

Unless  I  pass  the  stream  ere  morrow. 

XVI. 

"  Oh  !    aid  me  in  this  deep  distress, 

Nor  seek  its  causes  to  unravel ; 
My  strength,  alas  !  is  weak  at  best, 

And  I  am  worn  with  toil  and  travel." 

XVIL 

"Though  swift,"  said  Evan,  "is-  the  floods 
My  good  bay  mare  is  strong  and  steady; 

So  trust  thee  lassie  to  my  care. 

And  q^uickly  mount  and  make  thee  ready. 

XYIII. 

"  For  one  glance  of  those  eyes  of  blue,. 

Thy  bonnie  burden  I  will  carry ; 
For  one  kiss  of  those  honey  lips, 

I'll  guide  thee  o'er  the  raging  Garry.. 

XIX. 

"What  is  it  ails  my  good  bay  marel 
What  is  it  makes  her  start  and  shiver? 

She  sees  a  Kelpie  in  the  stream. 
Or  fears  the  rushing  of  the  river. 


92  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 


XX. 

"  Ah,  coward  jade  ! — but  heed  her  not, 
For,  maiden  dear,  we  may  not  tarry ; — 

The  beast  has  swum  a  swifter  flood ; 
I'll  see  thee  safely  through  the  Garry." 

XXI. 

They  mounted  on  the  good  bay  mare — 
But  vainly  Evan  strove  to  guide  her; 

Through  all  her  frame  a  terror  crept — 
She  trembled  at  her  bonnie  rider. 

XXIL 

Then  as  she  heard  the  maiden's  voice, 
And  felt  her  gentle  fingers  pat  her, 

She  gave  a  neigh  as  loud  and  shrill 
As  if  an  evil  sprite  had  sat  her. 

XXIII. 

And  with  a  desperate  bound  she  sprang 
High  from  the  bank  into  the  current ; 

While  sounds  of  laughter  seem'd  to  mix 
Amid  the  roaring  of  the  torrent. 

XXIV. 

The  waters  rush'd  in  eddying  whirls. 

And  dash'd  the  foam-drops  o'er  the  heather  ; 

And  winds  that  seem'd  asleep  till  then. 
Let  loose  their  fury  altogether. 


THE  WRAITH  OF  GARRY  WATER.         93 
XXV. 

Down — down — the  awaken'd  tempest  blew — 
And  faster  down  the  flood  came  pouring — 

And  horse  and  riders,  overwhelm'd, 
Sank  'mid  the  rush  of  waters  roarinir. 

XXVI. 

But  on  the  surface  of  the  flood, 

Her  yellow  locks  with  spray-fall  dripping. 
The  maiden  with  the  kirtle  green 

And  azure  robe,  came  lightly  tripping. 

XXVII. 

And  now  she  sank,  now  rose  again, 

And  dash'd  the  wave  in  rain-like  shiver; 

Then  lay  afloat,  or  tiptoe  stood 

Upon  the  foam-bells  of  the  river : — 

XXVIII. 

And  laugh'd  the  while,  and  clapp'd  her  hands — 

Until  at  last  the  storm  subsided, 
When,  like  a  gleam  of  parting  light. 

Away  upon  the  mist  she  glided. 

XXIX. 

And  Evan's  corpse  at  morn  was  found, 
Far  down  by  Tummel,  pale  and  mangled, 

His  features  bruised  by  jutting  rocks, 
His  auburn  curls  with  gore  entangled. 


94  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 


XXX. 


Few  were  the  mourners  at  his  grave, 

But  'mid  them  two — a  sire  and  daughter; 

And  loud  she  sobb'd,  and  loud  she  wept, 
Though  tenderly  her  sire  besought  her. 


XXXI. 


"He  loved  me, — and  he  did  me  wrong,'* 
She  said,  "and  darken'd  all  my  morrow; 

But  in  his  grave  Eesentment  sleeps. 

While  Love  survives  to  feed  on  Sorrow.'* 


'^^^a^=5as^ 


THE   king's   son-.  95 


THE  KING^S  SON. 


"  Why  so  sorrowful,  my  son  ] 
Wliy  so  pallid  and  distress'd  1 

Why  that  look  so  woe-begone  ? 
And  that  heaving  of  the  breast? 

Hast  not  wealth  enough  to  spend 
On  the  joys  thou  lovest  bestf 

II. 

"I  have  wealth  enough  to  spend — • 
All  thy  jewels  and  thy  gold, 

All  that  usurers  could  lend, 
Piled  before  me  fifty-fold, 

Could  not  ease  me  of  the  pain 
That  consumes  me  uncontroll'd." 


"  Could  not  ease  thee  of  thy  pain  ? 

Art  thou  longing  for  the  hour 
When  thy  sire  shall  cease  to  reign, 

And  thine  enemies  shall  cower? 
Art  thou  longing  for  my  crown. 

And  my  sceptre  and  my  power  1" 


96  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLES. 

IV. 

"  No  ! — I  care  not  for  thy  crown, 
Nor  thy  sceptre,  nor  thy  state. 

Could  my  wishes  cast  thee  down, 
Thou  shouldst  flourish  high  and  great ; 

But  thou'st  done  me  mortal  wrong — 
And  hast  changed  my  love  to  hate. 


**Thou  hast  done  me  mortal  wrong — 
Thou,  so  feeble,  old,  and  gray — 

Thou,  so  weak,  whilst  I  am  strong, — 
Thou  hast  stolen  my  bride  away, 

And  art  rival  of  thy  son. 
In  the  waning  of  thy  day : 

VI. 

Art  the  rival  of  thy  son 

For  a  maid  that  he  adored ; — 

Hast  her  trusting  heart  undone. 

Though  she  wept  and  she  implored ; — 

But  she  hates  thee  as  do  I, 

Thou  voluptuous — thou  abhorr'd  ! 

vn. 

"  But  she  hates  thee  as  do  I, 
O  thou  rust  upon  the  steel ! 

O  thou  cloud  upon  the  sky ! 
O  thou  poison  at  the  meal ! 

"Who  hast  changed  our  joy  to  woe, 
Which  no  time  can  ever  heal ! 


THE  king's  son.  97 


vni. 


**  Who  hast  changed  our  joy  to  woe, 
Bringing  blight  upon  her  heart — 

Bringing  tears  that,  as  they  flow, 
Burn  the  eyeballs  where  they  start : 

Buying  beauty  for  a  price, 
Like  a  jewel  in  the  mart. 

IX. 

"  Buying  beauty  for  a  price. 

When  the  priceless  gem  was  mine; 

When  thy  blood  is  cold  as  ice, 

Nor  can  warm  with  love  or  wine, — 

Trying  vainly  to  be  young, 

And  to  kneel  at  beauty's  shrine. 


"  Trying  vainly  to  be  young, 

When  thy  limbs  with  palsy  shake. 

And  to  woo  with  flattering  tongue. 
When  for  Jesus'  blessed  sake 

Thou  shouldst  make  thy  peace  with  God, 
Ere  the  grave  thy  body  take !" 

XI. 

Fiercely  flash'd  the  old  king's  eye — 
To  his  forehead  rush'd  the  blood — 

And  the  veins  were  swollen  high 
By  the  anger-driven  flood ; 

But  his  tongue  refused  to  speak. 
And  he  trembled  where  he  stood. 

H 


98  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLEa 

XII. 

But  his  tongue  refused  to  speak 
All  the  madness  of  his  brain ; 

From  his  eyes  it  seem'd  to  reek. 
On  his  lips  it  curl'd  in  pain> 

In  each  feature  of  his  face, 
Sweird  in  anger  and  disdain. 

XIII. 

In  each  feature  of  his  face 
Shone  a  moment,  like  a  fire. 

But  no  longer  :  from  his  place 
Falling,  conquer'd  by  his  ire. 

Senseless  on  the  ground  he  lay. 
Struck  by  apoplexy  dire. 

XIV. 

O'er  him  bent  his  sorrowing  son, 
"Weeping  tears  of  bitter  woe. 

For  the  ill  his  words  had  done 
To  his  father  lying  low, 

With  his  venerable  head. 

And  his  long  hair  white  as  snow, 

XV. 

And  that  venerable  head. 

Burning,  throbbing,  up  he  raised 

On  his  knees,  as  on  a  bed, 

And  till  succour  came,  still  gazed 

On  that  pain-distorted  cheek. 
Awed,  remorseful,  and  amazed. 


THE  king's  son.  99 


XVI. 


Awed,  remorseful,  and  heart-sore, 
But  with  courage  calm  and  kind, 

To  his  couch  his  sire  he  bore. 
Deep  repentance  in  his  mind; 

And  for  many  a  weary  day 

Watch'd  him,  patient  and  resign'd. 

XVII. 

And  for  many  a  weary  day, 
And  for  many  a  dreary  night, 

Watch'd  beside  him  as  he  lay — 

Senseless — speechless — hopeless  quite. 

Until  sense,  one  day,  return'd 
Like  a  sudden  flash  of  light. 

XVIII. 

Like  a  flash  of  light  it  came ; 

And  his  son  beside  him  knelt, 
Grasp'd  his  hand  and  breathed  his  name, 

And  the  sorrow  that  he  felt 
Whisper'd  lowly,  and  implored 

That  forgiveness  might  be  dealt. 

XIX. 

Whisper'd  lowly,  and  implored — 
"  Oh,  forgive  me,  sire,"  he  said — 

"  I  am  sad  and  self-abhorr'd — 
I  have  wrong'd  thine  aged  head, 

I  have  mock'd  thy  hoary  hair. 
Impulse-driven  and  passion-led. 
H  2 


100  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


"I  have  mock'd  the  hoary  hair 
Of  a  sire  that  loved  me  well, 

But  when  goaded  to  despair, 
Youthful  passion  will  rebel  : 

And  I  loved  this  lovely  maid 
More  than  tongue  can  ever  tell. 

XXI. 

"  God  forgive  me  and  the  maid ! 

At  her  feet  I  breathed  my  sighs — 
Doated  on  her,  vow'd  and  pray'd — 

Drew  existence  from  her  eyes, 
Thought  her  love  a  light  from  heaven, 

And  her  smile  a  paradise. 


"Thought  her  love  a  light  from  heaven, 
And  her  form  its  purest  shrine. 

And  my  being  only  given 

That  with  hei^s  it  might  entwine 

Heart  and  soul  and  every  sense, 

Mine  with  hers  and  hers  with  mine. 


"Heart  and  soul  through  every  sense. 
One  as  long  as  life  should  last. 

One  desire,  one  love  intense — 
In  one  mould  of  fortune  cast ; 

Undivided  in  our  love. 

E'en  if  life  itself  were  past. 


THE   king's   son.  101 

XXIV.        •;     ^  l\l  ]\    i' 

"  Undivided — oh,  that '  tliQught ! 

Thou,  O  father  !  c^me  betweenV 
For  thy  wife  my  bride  thou  sought — 

Woo'd  this  maid  to  be  a  queen, 
Never  asking,  in  thy  pride, 

What  her  agony  might  mean. 

XXV. 

"  Never  asking,  in  thy  pride. 

If  she  loved  thee!" "Oh,  my  son  1" 

Stung  with  grief,  the  father  cried, 

"  Pardon  what  thy  sire  has  done ; 
Ere  this  night  I'll  give  thee  back 

Her  thou  hast  not  lost,  but  won. 

XXVI. 

"Ere  this  night  I'll  give  thee  back 

Her  thou  lovest ; — as  for  me, 
If  I  writhe  upon  the  rack. 

Just  my  punishment  will  be  ; 
I  was  selfish  in  my  age, 

I  was  heartless  unto  thee. 

XXVII. 

"  I  was  selfish  in  my  age  ; — 

Lustful,  callous,  stony-hard ; 
Ending  life's  long  pilgrimage, 

Swaddled  in  my  self-regard ; 
Caring  not,  so  1  enjoy'd. 

Whose  enjoyment  I  debarr'd. 


102  LEGENDS   OF   THE  ISLES. 

'      <  ' .  XXVIIL 

'    '        "Caring  not,  so. I  enjoy'd, 
i\^\  'Vc«'   WJi( mi; L, injured,  whom  oppress'd, 
'  *    '  '   '  "Whose  the  hope  that  I  destroy'd, 
If  one  moment  I  were  bless'd. 
But  in  living  to  repent, 

I  shall  die  with  calmer  breast. 

XXIX. 

*And  in  living  to  repent, 

Let  me  hasten  to  atone. 
She  for  whom  thy  prayers  are  sent — 

She  is  thine,  and  thine  alone, 
And  thy  love  shall  be  to  her 

Better  guerdon  than  my  throne. 

XXX. 

"Bring  her  hither — ^let  my  tongue 
Bless  you  both  before  I  die." 

He  has  brought  her;   Lo  among 
Chiefs  and  earls  of  lineage  high, 

In  her  loveliness  array'd, 
She  has  glided  modestly. 

XXXI. 

In  her  loveliness  array'd, 

Downwards  looking,  mild  and  meek, 
Dazzling  as  a  star,  the  maid, — 

Happy  blushes  on  her  cheek, — 
Kneels  beside  the  old  man's  bed, 

Fill'd  with  joy  she  cannot  speak. 


THE  king's  son.  103 

XXXII. 

Kneels  beside  the  old  king's  bed,      ^ 
Sorrow  mingling  with  her  bliss; 

And  he  stoops  his  aged  head, 
On  her  forehead  seals  one  kiss, 

Takes  his  son's  hand  and  the  maid's, 
Joins  them,  trembling,  both  in  his. 

XXXIII. 

Clasp'd  his  son's  hand  in  his  own, 

Then  upon  his  pillow  fell, 
And  his  eyes  one  moment  shone, 

With  a  peace  unspeakable, 
As  he  died  without  a  groan  ; — 

Holy  angels  guard  him  well  1 


104  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 


THE  LADY  OF  DUAET'S  VENGEANCE. 


[The  Florida,  one  of  the  Invincible  Armada,  was  sunk  at  Tobermory  by 
an  emissary  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  This  vessel  is  supposed  to  have  con- 
tained a  great  deal  of  specie.  The  country  tradition  concerning  it  is, 
that  a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Spain  having  dreamed  that  a  young  man 
of  particularly  engaging  figure  had  appeared  to  her,  determined  to  sail  the 
wide  world  in  search  of  the  living  prototype  of  the  vision ;  Maclean  of 
Duart  realized  in  the  princess's  eyes  the  creations  of  her  fancy.  The  wife 
of  Maclean  became  jealous  of  his  attentions  to  the  fair  stranger,  and 
sought  counsel  of  the  witches  of  Mull,  by  whose  agency  the  vessel  was 
sunk  with  the  object  of  her  resentment. — Anderson^ s  Guide  to  the  High- 
lands.2 


"Weird  woman,  that  dwellest  on  lofty  Ben  More, 
Give  ear  to  my  sorrow,  and  aid,  I  implore. 
A  lady  has  come  from  the  green  sunny  bowers 
Of  a  far  southern  clime,  to  the  mountains  of  ours ; 
A  light  in  her  eyes,  but  deceit  in  her  heart. 
And  she  lingers  and  lingers,  and  will  not  depart. 

II. 

"  Through  darkness  and  danger,  'mid  tempest  and  rain. 
She  has  sail'd  to  our  shores  from  the  vineyards  of 

Spain, 
Forsaking  her  country,  her  kindred,  her  home, 
Abroad  through  our  cold  Western   islands  to  roam. 
To  find  a  young  lover  as  fair  to  her  sight 
As  a  vision  she  saw  in  the  slumbers  of  night. 


THE   LADY   OF   DUART's   VENGEANCE.  105 

III. 

"And  hither  by  stars  inauspicious  convey'd/* 
She  has  come,  in  her  gems  and  her  beauty  array'd, 
With  a  tongue  full  of  sweetness — a  heart  insincere, 
And  wielding  at  will  both  the  smile  and  the  tear ; 
And  fix'd  her  bright  eyes  on  the  chief  of  Maclean, 
To  toy  with  his  heart,  and  bewilder  his  brain. 


IV. 

"  And  I,  who  was  once  the  delight  of  his  soul. 
Ere  sJie  like  a  blight  on  my  happiness  stole, 
Now  wander  through  Duart,  neglected  and  lorn, 
Of  a  stranger  the  scoff — of  my  maidens  the  scorn ; 
"With  a  grief  in  my  bosom  that  gnaws  to  the  core, 
And  a  fire  in  my  brain  that  will  burn  evermore  : 


"  Unless  thou  wilt  aid    me   with    charm    and    with 

spell. 
To  gain  back  the  heart  I  have  cherish'd  so  well, 
And  rid  me  of  her  who  with  art  the  most  vile 
Has  poison'd  my  peace  with  her  glozing  and  guile — 
I  hate  her  with  hatred  intense  as  despair  ! — 
Yet  murder's  a  guilt  that  my  soul  cannot  bear." 


VI. 

"  Be  calm,  craven  spirit !     On  me  be  the  guilt. 
No  poison  shall  rack  her,  no  blood  shall  be  spilt. 


106  LEGENDS  OF  THE  ISLES. 

Till    my   hair  has   turn'd  gray,    and   my  blood  has 

grown  thin, 
I  have  dwelt  on  Ben  More  with  the  spirits  of  sin  ; 
And  have  learn'd  by  their  aid  without  weapons  to 

kill, 
And  can  blast  by  a  look,  and  destroy  by  my  will 


VIL 

"Were  the  good  ship,  the  Florida,  far  on  the  seas, 
I'd  whirl  her  and  toss  her,  like  chaff  on  the  breeze, 
And  far  on  some  cliff,  where  the  storms  ever  roar. 
And    aid    could   not    reach   them,    I'd    drive    them 

ashore  ; 
And  the  wanton  I'd  seize  by  her  long  raven  locks. 
And  drae:  her  to  death  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks. 


vin. 

"  But  safe  from  all  danger  of  winds  and  of  tides, 

In  calm  Tobermory  at  anchor  she  rides  ; 

But  peril  may  come  'mid  security  deep. 

And  vengeance  may  wake  when  the  world  is  asleep ; 

And  strong  though  her  timbers — her  haven  secure. 

The  hand  of  Revenge,  though  unseen,  shall  be  sure." 


IX. 

Serene  was  the  night,  and  unruffled  the  bay, 
Not  a  breath  stirr'd  the  deep  where  the  Florida  lay; 
Her  broad  azure  pennant   hung  breezeless  on  high. 
And  her  thin  taper  masts  pointed  clear  to  the  sky ; 


THE   LADY   OF   DUAKT's   VENGEANCE.  107 

And  the  nioonliglit  that  fell   on  the  breast  of  the 

deep 
Appear  d  like  the  charm  that  had  lull'd  it  to  sleep. 


X. 

The  cabin-boy  dream'd  of  the  vineyards  of  Spain, 

Or  roam'd  with  a  maiden  at  sunset  again  ; 

The  sailor,  in  fancy,  was  dancing  afar, 

In  his  own  native  land,  to  the  graceful  guitar ; 

Or  bless'd  with  a  household,  in  sleep,  was  restored 

To  the  children  he  loved,  and  the  wife  he  adored. 


XI. 

The  fair  Spanish  lady  in  visions  was  blest : 

She  dream'd  that,  escaped  from  the  isles  of  the  West, 

Her  young  Highland  chief  had  consented  to  roam 

To  her  far  Andalusia  in  search  of  a  home ; 

That  together  they  dwelt  in  her  own  sunny  clime, 

Where  life  was  not  effort,  and  love  was  not  crime. 


XII. 

None  dream'd  of  the  danger  that  round  them  might 

lurk; 
But  in  darkness  and  silence  a  spell  was  at  work. 
Conceal'd  in  the  waters,  at  poop  and  at  prow, 
The  agents  of  evil  were  busy  below ; 
And  noiseless  their  labour,  but  certain  their  stroke, 
Through  her  strong  copper'd  hull,  and  her  timbers  of 

oak. 


108  LEGENDS   OF   THE    ISLES, 


XIIL 


And  long  ere  the  morning,  a  loud  sudden  shriek 
Was  heard  o'er  the  bay  "  Sprung  a  leak ! — sprung 

a  leak  ! " 
Oh !  then  there  was  gathering  in  tumult  and  fear, 
And  a  blanching  of  cheeks,  as  the  peril  grew  near  j 
A  screaming  of  women — a  shouting  of  men, 
And  a  rushing  and  trampling,  again  and  again ! 

XIV. 

No  time  for  leave-taking — no  leisure  to  weep ! 
In  roll'd  the  fierce  waters,  and  down  to  the  deep, 
Down,   down  fifty  fathoms,  with  captain  and  crew, 
The  Florida  sank,  with  the  haven  in  view. — 
Down,  down  to  the  bottom,  escaping  but  one. 
To  tell  the  sad  tale  of  the  deed  that  was  done. 

XV. 

And  he,  as  he  battled  for  life  with  the  tide, 

Beheld  the  fair  lady  of  Spain  by  his  side, 

And  a  lank  .skinny  hand,  that  came  up  through  the 

spray, 
And  twined  in  her  tresses,  as  floating  she  lay, 
And  heard  the  loud  laughter  of  fiends  in  the  air. 
As  she  sank  'mid  the  waves  with  a  shriek  of  despair. 


THE   BRIDGE   OF   GLEN   ARAY.  109 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  GLEN  ARAY. 


We  pass'd  the  bridge  with  tramping  steeds, 

The  waters  rush'd  below, 
Down  from  the  gorges  of  the  hills 

We  heard  the  torrents  flow. 
But  louder  than  the  roar  of  streams — 

We  rode  as  hurried  men, — 
The  foot-falls  of  our  cavalcade 

Re-echoed  through  the  glen. 

II. 

We  sang  and  shouted  as  we  went, 

Our  hearts  were  light  that  day, 
When  near  the  middle  of  the  bridge 

A  shrill  voice  bade  us  stay. 
We  saw  a  woman  gaunt  and  old 

Come  gliding  up  the  rocks. 
With  long  bare  arms,  and  shrivelFd  face, 

And  gray  dishevell'd  locks. 

III. 

She  seized  ray  bridle  suddenly, 
The  horse  stood  still  with  fear — 

Her  hand  was  strong  and  bird-like  long — 
Her  eye  was  piercing  clear. 


110  LEGENDS   OP  THE  ISLES. 

"  Oh  shame  ! "  she  said,   "  oh  cruel  shame  ! 

To  ride  so  fierce  and  wild, 
The  clatter  of  your  horses'  hoofs 

"Will  wake  my  little  child. 

IV. 

"  Oh  hush  !  oh  hush !  I  pray  you,  hush  ! 

I  ask  no  other  boon — 
No  word  be  said — and  softly  tread — 

The  child  will  waken  soon. 
I  die  of  noises  all  day  long, 

From  Morn  till  Even-blush, 
Not  for  my  sake,  but  hers,   I  pray — 

Hush  !  if  you're  Christians,  hush  !  " 

V, 

Much  wonder'd  we  to  hear  her  words, 

But  Hugh,  our  guide,  look'd  on ; 
"  Poor  soul  ! "  he  said,  "  well  da  our  best 

To  earn  her  benison. 
'Twill  cost  no  trouble  to  be  kind  : 

Good  Chrystie,  let  us  through, 
"We  will  not  wake  your  sleeping  child, 

But  pray  for  her  and  you." 

VI. 

She  slowly  let  the  bridle  fall — 
"  Ride  on  your  way,"  she  said — 

"  But  oh,  be  silent !  noise  like  yours 
Disturbs  both  quick  and  dead," 


THE  BRIDGE   OF   GLEN  ARAY.  Ill 

And  then  she  slid  among  the  rocks  ; — 

We  saw  not  where  she  went, 
But  turii'd  to  Hugh  our  anxious  eyes, 

Inquiring  what  she  meant. 

VII. 

"  Poor  thing  ! "  he  said,  while  forth  we  rode 

As  if  we  trod  on  snow, 
"  Her  brain  is  turn'd  by  sore  mischance 

That  happen'd  long  ago. 
Her  age  was  scarcely  twenty  then, 

But  what  it  now  may  be 
Is  somewhat  difficult  to  ^x. 

Between  fourscore  and  three. 

viu. 

"  Though  now  she's  ugly  as  a  witch, 

She  was  a  beauty  then. 
And  with  her  gentleness  and  grace 

She  won  the  hearts  of  men. 
And  Donald  Bain  won  hers,  and  sought 

The  hand  she  freely  gave  ; — 
They  married  j  but  before  a  year 

She  wept  upon  his  grave. 

IX. 

•*A  little  babe  was  left  behind, — 

A  fairy  thing,  'tis  said. 
With  soft  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair, 

And  cheeks  of  cherry  red. 


112  LEGENDS   OF  THE   ISLES. 

It  grew  in  beauty  every  day, 
The  maid  was  two  years  old, 

The  darling  of  her  mother's  life 
A  pleasure  to  behold. 


"One  day  she  wander d  to  the  stream — 

It  was  the  time  of  floods — 
Perchance  she  chased  the  butterfly, 

Or  pluck'd  the  yellow  buds. 
She  lost  her  footing  on  the  brink ; — 

The  mother  heard  the  cry, 
And  sprang  to  save, — but  all  too  late  ! 

The  flood  ran  roaring  by. 

XL 

"She  saw  the  little  face  and  hands, 

Then  leap'd  into  the  foam, 
To  snatch  it  from  impending  death. 

And  bear  her  darling  home. 
In  vain !   in  vain  I  oh,  all  in  vain ! 

The  neighbours  gather'd  round. 
They  saved  the  mother  from  the  deep — 

The  little  child  was  drown'd. 

XIL 

"And  since  that  day — past  fifty  years — 
She's  linger'd  by  the  stream. 

And  thinks  the  babe  has  gone  to  sleep, 
And  dreams  a  happy  dream. 


THE   BRIDGE    OF   GLEN   ARAY.  113 

She  fancies  it  will  soon  awake, 
With  blue  eyes  twinkling,  mild — 

Unchanged  by  half  a  century, 
And  still  a  little  child. 

XIII. 

"Beside  the  waters  where  it  sank 

She  sits  the  livelong  day, 
Her  eyes  upon  the  eddies  fix'd, 

That  round  the  boulders  play  ; 
And  spreads  to  dry  upon  the  rocks 

The  clothes  which  it  shall  wear. 
The  little  frock,  the  tiny  shoes, 

And  ribbons  for  its  hair. 

XIV. 

"  She  loves  deep  silence  ; — bless'd  with  that. 

She  feeds  on  empty  hope. 
And  daily  nerves  a  broken  heart 

With  misery  to  cope. 
The  pitying  friends  who  bring  her  food 

All  speak  in  whispers  low. 
And  never  argue  with  the  thought 

That  cheers  her  in  her  woe. 

XT. 

"  For  she  is  harmless  as  a  babe, 

Though  mad,  as  you  may  see ; — 
God  save  our  senses,  one  and  all ! — " 

"Amen!  amen!"  said  we. 

I 


114  LEGENDS   OF  THE  ISLES. 

Such  was  the  tale,  and  all  that  day 
Such  symiDathy  it  woke, 

I  turn'd  to  chide  each  rising  noise, 
And  whisper'd  as  I  spoke. 


Glen  Arat,  Inverness-shirb, 
1849. 


THE   PLANTING   OF   THE   ACORNS.  115 


THE  PLANTING  OF  THE  ACORNS. 


DARNAWAY   FOREST. 


Upon  this  bare  unshelter'd  ground 

The  living  germs  we  strew, 
And  pray  for  kindly  summer  suns, 

And  fertilizing  dew. 
Receive  the  Acorns,  mother  Earth, 

And  feed  them  year  by  year. 
Till  proud  and  high,  towards  the  sky 
Their  lordly  boughs  they  rear. 
Winds,  blow  gently  o'er  them  ! 

Kain,  fall  softly  down ! 
Earth,  enwrap  them  warmly 
In  thy  bosom  brown ! 

II. 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  their  leaves 
The  wanton  birds  shall  play. 

And  lovers  in  the  summer  eves 
Shall  sigh  their  hearts  away; 
I  2 


116  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 

Or  sit  together  side  by  side 

In  solitary  nooks, 
To  read  in  one  another's  eyes 

The  lore  not  learn'd  in  books. 
Winds,  blow  gently  o'er  them ! 

Stars,  look  kindly  through ! 
Fortune,  smile  upon  them, 
If  their  love  be  true ! 


m. 

And  here  in  rural  holidays. 

The  village  girls  shall  sing 
The  simple  rhymes  of  olden  times, 

While  dancing  in  a  ring. 
Old  men,  upon  the  sward  beneath. 

Shall  loiter  in  the  sun, 
With  pipe  and  glass,  and  drowsy  talk 
Of  all  the  deeds  they've  done. 
Winds,  blow  gently  o'er  them! 

Sunshine,  gild  their  way  ! 
Time,  lay  light  thy  fingers 
On  their  heads  of  gray ! 


IV. 

And  when  a  hundred  years  have  pass'd, 
The  oaks,  grown  old  and  hoar. 

Shall  serve  to  form  some  mighty  fleet, 
To  guard  our  native  shore. 


THE   PLANTING   OF   THE   ACORNS.  117 

By  trusty  hearts,  in  peril's  hour, 

Our  flag  shall  be  unfurl'd 
To  sound  the  fame  of  Britain's  name 
In  thunder  o'er  the  world. 
Winds,  blow  gaily  o'er  them ! 

Calm  thy  rage,  0  sea ! 
Bear  thy  burden  proudly 
On  to  Victory  1 


118  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


THE    FALL    OF    FOYERS, 
LOCH  NESS,  INVERNESS-SHIRE. 


Wet  with  the  spray  of  this  transcendant  river, 
Upon  this  crag  with  mosses  cover'd  o'er, 
I  love  to  stand,  and  listen  to  the  roar 

Of  waters  bursting  down  the  rocks  for  ever — 

Dash'd  into  rainbows  where  the  sunbeams  quiver. - 
The  sound  of  billows  as  they  beat  the  shore, 
Or  thunder  leaping  on  the  hill-tops  hoar. 

Till  the  firm  earth  beneath  its  footsteps  shiver, 

Is  not  more  awful  than  thy  flood,  O  Foyers ! 
Koaring  'mid  chasms  like  an  escaping  sea. — 
Alone,  and  silent,  in  thy  presence  vast, 

Awed,  yet  elated,  the  rapt  soul  aspires, 
Forgetting  all  its  meaner  longings  past. 

To  hold  high  converse,  intimate,  with  thee. 

IL 

Yes !  all  unmindful  of  the  world  without, 
My  spirit  with  thee,  and  my  eyes  in  thrall 

To  thy  great  beauty,  swathing  me  about, 

To  me  thy  voice  breathes  peace,  majestic  Fall ! 


THE   FALL   OF   FOYERS.  119 

Envy  and  pride,  and  warring  passions  all — 
Hatred  and  scorn,  and  littleness  of  mind, 
And  all  the  mean  vexations  of  mankind. 

Fade  from  my  spirit  at  thy  powerful  call. 
I  stand  before  thee,  reverent  and  dumb, 
And  hear  thy  voice  discoursing  to  my  soul 

Sublime  orations  tuned  to  psalmody — 
High  thoughts  of  peril  met  and  overcome — 

Of  Power  and  Beauty  and  Eternity, 
And  the  great  God  who  bade  thy  waters  roll ! 


120  LEGENDS   OF   THE   ISLES. 


FOYEBS  BEFOEE  THE  FALL. 

Ere  this  commotion  wakens  in  thy  breast, 

Or  these  stern  rocks  call  forth  thy  hidden  powers, 
How  gently,  Foyers,  thou  passest  all  thine  hours  ! 

Now  loitering  where  the  linnet  builds  its  nest. 

Or  in  green  meadows  where  the  cattle  rest 
Lingering,  and  singing  to  the  birken  bowers. 
And  heather-bells  and  all  the  woodland  flowers 

That  bare  their  bosoms  to  the  fragrant  west. 

So  the  great  minds  that  soar  to  heights  sublime. 
And  win  in  peril  all  the  world's  applause 

By  thoughts  of  wisdom  and  courageous  deeds, 

Are  aye  the  same  that,  in  a  calmer  time, 
Conform  them  to  the  sweet  domestic  laws. 
And  sport  with  happy  children  in  the  meads. 


cox  AND   WYMAN,    FEINTERS,   GREAT    aXJBEN-STBEET. 


^allah  an^  fgmal  |oems. 


^allah  anb  f  ^^ital  loems^ 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW. 

I. 
Methought  on  the  Mgesna.  sand 
I  saw  a  mighty  Spirit  stand, 
Clad  in  his  majesty  alone ; — 
His  large  fair  brow  seem*d  Wisdom's  throne, 
And  from  his  face  a  glory  shone. 

II. 

Another  Spirit,  great  as  he. 
Stood  by  the  far-off  Northern  Sea; 
Erect  his  port,  sublime  his  air  ; 
E-estless  he  seem'd,  and  full  of  care, 
But  godlike,  and  divinely  fair. 

III. 
And  though  between  them,  as  they  stood, 
All  Europe  stretch'd  its  plenitude 
Of  populous  lands ;  and  mountains  cold 
E-aised  their  bare  peaks,  and  oceans  roll'd, 
Each  could  the  other's  face  behold. 

B 


BAJiL^DS   AND   LYEICAL  POEMS. 


«  •  J ;     \  ,*\      I         IV. 

Each  coiild  with  each  hold  converse  high, 
And  mingle  voices  in  the  sky  ; 
Sonnding  far  off,  not  loud,  but  clear. 
Upon  my  senses — fill'd  with  fear — 
As  from  some  interlunar  sphere. 


V. 

"  Men,"  said  the  first,  "  inspired  by  thee, 

Talk  of  their  high  philosophy  ; 

Their  skill,  their  science,  and  their  laws; 

Their  tracing  of  effect  to  cause  ; 

Their  arts  that  win  the  world's  applause  ; 


VI. 

"  Their  happy  progress  evermore, 

From  good  to  better  than  before ; 

Their  new  discoveries  sublime  ; 

Their  knowledge  spread  from  clime  to  clime  ; 

Their  triumphs  over  space  and  time. 


vn. 

"  They  vaunt  their  manners  pure  and  mild, 
And  their  religion  undefiled ; 
While  all  the  good  that  I  have  wrought 
Is  banish'd  from  their  daily  thought, 
Or,  if  remember'd,  set  at  nought. 


THE   OLD   AND   THE  NEW. 


yiii. 

"Vain  of  their  progress,  they  contemn 
All  arts  that  have  not  sprung  from  them  ; 
And,  swoll'n  with  pride,  they  cannot  see, 
If  I  were  not,  thou  couldst  not  be, 
And  that  the  fruit  proclaims  the  tree." 


IX. 

"Nay!"  said  the  second!  "'tis  not  so; 
They  give  the  reverence  which  they  owe  : 
Thy  memories  are  the  theme  of  schools — 
Thy  maxims  are  their  daily  rules ; 
And  none  despise  thee  but  the  fools. 


X. 

"They  own  with  wonder  and  with  awe 

Thine  ancient  wisdom  as  their  law ; 

And  that  thy  glories  still  inspire 

The  sweetest  music  of  the  lyre. 

And  steep  its  chords  in  heavenly  fire  j — 


XL 

"  That  all  the  arts  which  most  refine. 
And  make  humanity  divine. 
Were  caught  from  thee ;  and  that  the  page 
"Which  tells  thy  deeds  from  age  to  age, 
Is  of  itself  an  heritage. 
B  2 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


XII. 

"  That  an  immortal  beauty  girds 
Thy  form,  and  sanctifies  thy  words ; 
And  that  thy  very  name  can  raise 
Visions  that  fill  us  with  amaze, 
From  the  abyss  of  former  days; — 


XIII. 

"  That  mighty  glimpses  of  the  truth 
riash'd  in  the  fancies  of  thy  youth ; 
And  that  thy  errors,  darkly  bright, 
Were  not  all  error,  even  in  sight 
Of  those  who  know  a  purer  light. 


XIV. 

"All  this  they  see,  but  cannot  own 
Thou  wert  perfection  overthrown  ; 
Or  that  as  Time,  with  onward  pace, 
Bemoved  old  systems  from  their  place, 
Thou  wert  the  best  for  every  race. 

XV. 

"They  will  not  own  that  for  the  few 
The  toil  of  millions  should  be  due — 
Or  that  the  multitudes  of  man. 
Mere  serfs  and  helots  in  thy  plan, 
Should  groan  for  ever  under  ban ; — 


THE   OLD   AND   THE  NEW. 


XVI. 


"That  thou  shouldst  grind  them  at  thy  will, 

And  at  thy  pleasure  maim  or  kill ; 

Or  make  them  build  thy  columns  high, 

Or  pyramids  to  dare  the  sky ; 

Or  force  them  in  thy  broils  to  die. 


XVIL 

"They  know,  though  beauteous  and  refined, 
Thou  wert  a  scourge  to  human  kind ; 
And  they  rejoice  thy  power  has  pass'd, 
And  that  the  time  has  come  at  last 
When  chains  must  fall,  however  fast; 

XVIIL 

*'And  when  the  many,  wearied  long, 
Borne  down  by  tyranny  and  wrong, 
May  lift  their  heads  and  look  around, 
Proud  of  the  knowledge  lately  found. 
They  are  not  serfs  upon  the  ground; 

XIX. 

"  But  freemen,  heritors  by  birth 
Of  the  enjoyments  of  the  earth  ; 
Free  not  alone  to  till  the  soil. 
But  to  partake  the  fruits  of  toil — 
The  corn,  the  vintage,  and  the  oil ; 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


XX. 

"Free  not  alone,  as  Nature  meant, 
To  live  their  life,  and  die  content  ; 
But  free  to  teach,  and  to  be  taught. 
To  read  the  Book  with  wisdom  fraught, 
To  think— and  interchange  their  thought." 

XXI. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  first,  "  'tis  brightly  drawn — 
Thou'st  made  a  noontide  of  the  dawn  ; 
For  wheresoe'er  I  turn  mine  eyes 
I  see  a  crowd  of  agonies — 
I  hear  the  murmurs  that  arise. 


XXII. 

"Though  great  thy  triumphs,  greater  still 
The  aggregate  of  human  ill ; — 
And  narrow,'  narrow  is  the  span 
On  which,  to  bless  the  sons  of  man. 
The  tide  of  effort  ever  ran. 


"Look  round  the  nations  and  compare — 
Examine  that  thou  mayst  declare 
What  vast  improvement  has  begun. 
And  what  two  thousand  years  have  done 
For  those  that  toil  beneath  the  sun. 


THE   OLD   AND   THE   NEW. 


XXIV. 

"The  people  grovell'd  in  my  prime — 
They  grovel  in  thy  happier  time  ; 
And  suflfring  then — they  suffer  now  : 
And  if  I  left  them  slaves,  hast  thoa 
Imprinted  freedom  on  their  brow  ? 


XXV. 

"Hast  thou  giv'n  virtue  to  the  base, 
Or  flash'd  thy  knowledge  in  their  face  ] 
Hast  thou  convey'd  to  every  shore 
The  tidings  thy  Messiah  bore, 
That  Peace  should  reijijn  for  evermore  1 


XXVI. 

^^Hast  thou,  in  lands  supremely  bless'd 
With  thy  refinements,  done  thy  best 
To  ease  the  ills  thou  canst  not  cure, 
To  teach  the  wretched  to  endure, 
And  shower  thy  blessings  on  the  poor  1" 


xxvu. 

"  I  am  but  young,"  the  Spirit  said  ; 
"  But  yesterday  I  raised  my  head, 
And  late  began  to  understand — 
A  mere  new-comer  in  the  land — 
What  was  expected  at  my  hand. 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


XXVIIL 


"The  mission  unfulfiU'd  by  thee 
Has  gain'd  some  impetus  from  me  ; 
And  every  triumph  of  thy  mind, 
Not  unforgotten  for  mankind, 
Has  been  led  further  and  refined. 


XXIX. 

"Though  narrow  yet  the  sphere  of  thought. 
It  has  been  widen'd  since  I  wrought  ; 
And  every  seed  which  thou  hast  sown 
For  human  benefit,  has  grown. 
And  larger  leaves  and  branches  thrown, 

XXX. 

"Beneath  my  care.     And  though  dark  night 

May  spread  a  veil  o'er  human  sight, 

I  see  far  ofiT  the  dawning  ray: 

I  labour  to  prepare  the  way, 

And  watch  the  coming  of  the  day." 

XXXI. 

And  as  the  Spirit  spoke,  his  eyes 
riash'd  heavenly  fire — and  to  the  skies 
Pointing  his  hand  he  turn'd  to  me. 
And  said — "  Thou  dreamer,  wake  and  see 
The  Paradise  that  earth  might  be  !" 


THE   OLD  AND   THE  NEW. 


XXXII. 


As  one  upon  a  mountain-top 
Standing  alone,  whom  mists  enwrap 
So  densely,  that  he  seeks  in  vain 
Amid  the  cloud  of  sleet  and  rain 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  plain, 


XXXIII. 

Shouts  when  he  sees  the  cloud  dispersed, 
And  in  full  glory  at  one  burst, 
A  world  disclosed — hill,  valley,  town. 
Glittering  in  sunlight  miles  adown — 
River  and  lake  and  highlands  brown ; — 


XXXIV. 

So  I,  in  ecstasy  and  awe, 

Look'd  up  believing,  and  I  saw 

That  from  mine  eyes  a  mist  was  roU'd, 

That  heaven  was  bright  as  burnish'd  gold. 

And  earth  had  visions  to  unfold. 


XXXV. 

I  saw  the  world  before  me  pass  ; — 
As  in  some  great  magician's  glass 
The  adept  sees  phantasm  as,  dim 
To  all  men  else,  but  clear  to  him. 
As  in  the  light  and  shade  they  swim  ;- 


K)  BALLADS   AND   LYPaCAL   POEMS. 


So  I  beheld  the  mighty  Earth 
Kolling  through  ether ;  all  its  girth 
Exhaling  glory.     O'er  my  sight 
Flow'd  the  full  tide  of  heavenly  light, 
Until  the  view  seem'd  infinite. 


XXXVII. 

All  happy  were  its  populous  lands ; 
Therein  no  man  with  willing  hands 
Needed  to  pine  for  want  of  bread  ; 
For  the  full  banquet  that  was  spread 
Allow'd  all  creatures  to  be  fed. 


XXXVIII. 

And  toil,  a  burden  borne  by  man 
In  sorrow  since  the  world  began, 
No  more  his  tender  bones  oppressed 
Until  supreme«t  joy  was  rest, 
Or  bow'd  his  head  upon  his  breast. 


XXXIX. 

But  iron  servants  wrought  his  will, — 
Great  engines  fashion'd  by  his  skill 
For  every  art — to  spin — to  coil — 
To  delve  the  mine,  to  till  the  soil, — 
And  free  the  human  race  from  toil. 


THE    OLD   AND   THE   NEW.  H 


XL. 

And  not  alone  by  vapour  driven, 

But  by  the  storms  and  calms  of  heaven — 

By  winds,  however  they  might  blow, 

And  by  the  tides  in  ebb  or  flow, 

The  mighty  wheels  went  to  and  fro. 

XLL 

The  nearest  and  remotest  lands 

Were  foes  no  more,  but  join'd  their  hands 

For  mutual  happiness  and  peace ; 

And  bade  their  old  dissensions  cease, 

That  they  might  flourish  and  increase. 

XLII. 

Too  wise  for  bloodshed,  War  no  more 
Made  demons  of  them  as  before  ; 
Beligion  sow'd  no  poison-seed — 
None  wish'd  his  neighbour  evil  speed. 
Or  bore  him  malice  for  his  creed. 


XLIII. 

But  as  I  look'd  with  tearful  eyes — 
Tears  sprung  of  joys  and  sympathies — 
The  colours  of  my  vision  grew 
Many  in  one ;  and  hue  with  hue 
Was  blent,  and  faded  from  my  view. 


12         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


XLIV. 

And  a  still  voice  said  to  my  heart — 
*'  Thougli  but  a  dream  thou  seest  depart, 
And  great  the  load  of  actual  ill, 
Hope  in  thy  waking — ^labour  still — 
Deeds  are  fruition  of  the  wilL 


XLV. 

"  The  smallest  effort  is  not  lost ; — 
Each  wavelet  on  the  ocean  toss'd 
Aids  in  the  ebb-tide  or  the  flow ; 
Each  rain-drop  makes  some  flow'ret  blow , 
Each  struggle  lessens  human  woe." 


13 


THE  COMING  TIME. 

"What  shall  I  do  to  be  for  ever  known, 
And  make  the  age  to  come  mine  own  V* 

Cowley. 

"What  thou  shalt  do  to  be  for  ever  known? 
Poet  or  statesman — look  with  steadfast  gaze, 

And  see  yon  giant  Shadow  'mid  the  haze, 
Far  off,  but  coming.     Listen  to  the  moan 
That  sinks  and  swells  in  fitful  under -tone. 

And  lend  it  words,  and  give  the  shadow  form  ; — 
And  see  the  Lights  now  pale  and  dimly  shown 

That  yet  shall  beam  resplendent  after  storm. 
Preach  thou  their  coming,  if  thy  soul  aspire 

To  be  the  foremost  in  the  ranks  of  fame  ; — 
Prepare  the  way,  with  hand  that  will  not  tire. 

And  tongue  unfaltering,  and  o'er  earth  proclaim 
The  Shadow,  the  Housed  Multitude; — the  Cry, 
"Justice  for  all!" — the  Light,  True  Liberty. 


14  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 


TUBAL  CAIN. 


Old  Tubal  Cain  was  a  man  of  might 

In  the  days  when  earth  was  young; 
By  the  fierce  red  light  of  his  furnace  bright 

The  strokes  of  his  hammer  rung ; 
And  he  lifted  high  his  brawny  hand 

On  the  iron  glowing  clear, 
Till  the  sparks  rush'd  out  in  scarlet  showei's, 

As  he  fashion'd  the  sword  and  spear. 
And  he  sang — "  Hurra  for  my  handiwork  ! 

Hurra  for  the  Spear  and  Sword  ! 
Hurra  for  the  hand  that  shall  wield  them  well, 

For  he  shall  be  kino;  and  lord  !" 


To  Tubal  Cain  came  many  a  one. 

As  he  wrought  by  his  roaring  fire, 
And  each  one  pray'd  for  a  strong  steel  blade 

As  the  crown  of  his  desire; 
And  he  made  them  weapons  sharp  and  strong. 

Till  they  shouted  loud  for  glee, 
And  gave  him  gifts  of  pearls  and  gold, 

And  spoils  of  the  forest  free. 
And  they  sang — "Hurra  for  Tubal  Cain, 

Who  hath  given  us  strength  anew  ! 
Hurra  for  the  smith,  hurra  for  the  fire, 

And  hurra  for  the  metal  true  !" 


TUBAL   CAIK.  15 


III. 


But  a  sudden  change  came  o'er  his  heart 

Ere  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
And  Tubal  Cain  was  fill'd  with  pain 

For  the  evil  he  had  done  ; 
He  saw  that  men,  with  rage  and  hate. 

Made  war  upon  their  kind, 
That  the  land  was  red  with  the  blood  they  shed 

In  their  lust  for  carnage,  blind. 
And  he  said — "  Alas  !  that  ever  I  made, 

Or  that  skill  of  mine  should  plan. 
The  spear  and  the  sword  for  men  whose  joy 

Is  to  slay  their  fellow-man  !" 


And  for  many  a  day  old  Tubal  Cain 

Sat  brooding  o'er  his  woe  ; 
And  his  hand  forbore  to  smite  the  ore,    * 

And  his  furnace  smoulder'd  low. 
But  he  rose  at  last  with  a  cheerful  face. 

And  a  bright  courageous  eye. 
And  bared  his  strong  right  arm  for  work, 

\yhile  the  quick  flames  mounted  high. 
And  he  sang — "Hurra  for  my  handiwork  !" 

And  the  red  sparks  lit  the  air  ; 
"  Not  alone  for  the  blade  was  the  bright  steel  made  ;" 
And  he  fashion'd  the  First  Ploughshare  ! 


16         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

V. 

And  men,  taught  wisdom  from  the  Past, 

In  friendship  join'd  their  hands. 
Hung  the  sword  in  the  hall,  the  spear  on  the  wall, 

And  plough'd  the  willing  lands ; 
And  sang — "  Hurra  for  Tubal  Cain  ! 

Our  stanch  good  friend  is  he ; 
And  for  the  ploughshare  and  the  plough 

To  him  our  praise  shall  be. 
But  while  Oppression  lifts  its  head, 

Or  a  tyrant  would  be  lord. 
Though  we  may  thank  him  for  the  Plough, 

We'll  not  for£?et  the  Sword  !" 


THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  BELL.* 


Haek  1  how  the  furnace  pants  and  roars, 
Hark  !  how  the  molten  metal  pours, 
As,  bursting  from  its  iron  doors, 

It  glitters  in  the  sun. 
Now  through  the  ready  mould  it  flows. 
Seething  and  hissing  as  it  goes. 
And  filling  every  crevice  up 
As  the  red  vintage  fills  the  cup  : 

Hurra  !  the  work  is  done  ! 

*  When  this  Ballad  was  written,  the  author  had  not  read 
Schiller's  poem  on  the  same  subject ;  or  it  is  possible — and  most 
probable — that  he  would  not  have  incurred  the  formidable  risk 
of  a  comparison. 


THE  FOUNDING   OF  THE  BELL.  17 

IL 

Unswathe  him  now.     Take  off  each  stay 
That  binds  him  to  his  couch  of  clay, 
And  let  him  struggle  into  day  : 

Let  chain  and  pulley  run, 
"With  yielding  crank  and  steady  rope, 
Until  he  rise  from  rim  to  cope, 
In  rounded  beauty,  ribb'd  in  strength, 
"Without  a  flaw  in  all  his  length  : 

Hurra  I  the  work  is  done  ! 

III. 

The  clapper  on  his  giant  side 

Shall  ring  no  peal  for  blushing  bride. 

For  birth,  or  death,  or  new-year  tide. 

Or  festival  begun  ! 
A  nation's  joy  alone  shall  be 
The  signal  for  his  revelry ; 
And  for  a  nation's  woes  alone 
His  melancholy  tongue  shall  moan  : 

Hurra  1  the  work  is  done  ! 

IV. 

Borne  on  the  gale,  deep-toned  and  clear, 
His  long  loud  summons  shall  we  hear, 
"When  statesmen  to  their  country  dear 

Their  mortal  race  have  run  ; 
"When  mighty  monarchs  yield  their  breath. 
And  patriots  sleep  the  sleep  of  death, 
Then  shall  he  raise  his  voice  of  gloom. 
And  peal  a  requiem  o'er  their  tomb  : 

Hurra  !  the  work  is  done  ! 
0 


18  BALLADS  AND   LYKICAL  POEMS. 

V. 

Should  foemen  lift  their  haughty  hand, 
And  dare  invade  us  where  we  stand, 
Fast  by  the  altars  of  our  land 

We'll  gather  every  one  : 
And  he  shall  ring  the  loud  alarm. 
To  call  the  multitudes  to  arm, 
From  distant  field  and  forest  brown, 
And  teeming  alleys  of  the  town  : 

Hurra  !  tlie  work  is  done  / 

VI. 

And  as  the  solemn  boom  they  hear, 
Old  men  shall  grasp  the  idle  spear, 
Laid  by  to  rust  for  many  a  year, 

And  to  the  struggle  run  ; 
Young  men  shall  leave  their  toils  or  books. 
Or  turn  to  swords  their  pruning-hooks ; 
And  maids  have  sweetest  smiles  for  those 
Who  battle  with  their  country's  foes  : 

Hurra  I  the  work  is  done  I 

VII. 

And  when  the  cannon's  iron  throat 
Shall  bear  the  news  to  dells  remote. 
And  trumpet-blast  resound  the  note. 

That  victory  is  won  : 
When  down  the  wind  the  banner  drops, 
And  bonfires  blaze  on  mountain-tops. 
His  sides  shall  glow  with  fierce  delight. 
And  ring  glad  peals  from  morn  to  night  : 

Burra  !  the  work  is  done  1 


THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  BELL.  19 

VIIL 

But  of  such  scenes  forbear  to  tell — 
May  never  War  awake  this  bell 
To  sound  the  tocsin  or  the  knell; — 

Hush'd  be  the  alarum  gun; — 
Sheath'd  be  the  sword  !  and  may  his  voice 
But  call  the  nations  to  rejoice 
That  War  his  tatter'd  flag  has  furl'd, 
And  vanish'd  from  a  wiser  world. 

Hurra  I  the  work  is  done  I 

IX. 

Still  may  he  ring  when  struggles  cease, 
Still  may  he  ring  for  joy's  increase, 
For  progress  in  the  arts  of  peace. 

And  friendly  trophies  won. 
When  rival  nations  join  their  hands, 
When  plenty  crowns  the  happy  lands, 
When  knowledge  gives  new  blessings  birth, 
And  freedom  reigns  o'er  all  the  earth. 
Hurra  I  the  work  is  done  ! 


c  2 


:^0  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


LIFE'S    COMPANIONS. 

I. 

When  I  set  sail  on  Life's  young  voyage, 

'Twas  upon  a  stormy  sea : 
But  to  cheer  me  night  and  day, 
Through  the  perils  of  the  way, 

With  me  went  companions  three — 
Three  companions  kind  and  faithful. 

True  as  friend  and  dear  as  bride  j 
Heedless  of  the  stormy  weather, 
Hand  in  hand  they  came  together, 

Ever  smiling  at  my  side. 

IL 

One  was  Health,  my  lusty  comrade, 

Cherry-cheek'd  and  stout  of  limb  ; 
Though  my  board  was  scant  of  cheer. 
And  my  drink  but  water  clear, 

I  was  thankful,  bless'd  with  him  : 
One  was  mild-eyed  Peace  of  Spirit, 

Who,  though  storms  the  welkin  swept. 
Waking  gave  me  calm  reliance. 
And  though  tempests  howl'd  defiance, 

Smooth'd  my  pillow  when  I  slept. 

III. 
One  was  Hope,  my  dearest  comrade, 

Never  absent  from  my  breast, 
Brightest  in  the  darkest  days. 
Kindest  in  the  roughest  ways. 

Dearer  far  than  all  the  rest. 


life's  companions.  21 

And  thougli  AVealtli,  nor  Fame,  nor  Station, 

Journey'd  with  me  o'er  the  sea, 
Stout  of  heart,  all  danger  scorning, 
I^ought  cared  I  in  Life's  young  morning 

For  their  lordly  company. 


IV. 

But,  alas  !  ere  night  has  darken'd, 

I  have  lost  companions  twain  ; 
And  the  third,  with  tearful  eyes, 
Worn  and  wasted,  often  flies. 

But  as  oft  returns  again. 
And,  instead  of  those  departed. 

Spectres  twain  around  me  flit ; 
Pointing  each,  with  shadowy  fiuger, 
Nightly  at  my  couch  they  linger; 

Daily  at  my  board  they  sit. 


Oh,  that  I  so  blindly  follow'd 

In  the  hot  pursuit  of  Wealth  ! 
Though  I've  gain'd  the  prize  of  gold, 
Eyes  are  dim,  and  blood  is  cold — 

I  have  lost  my  comrade.  Health. 
Care  instead,  the  wither'd  beldam, 

Steals  th'  enjoyment  from  my  cup : 
Hugs  me,  that  I  cannot  quit  her ; 
Makes  my  choicest  morsels  bitter ; 

Seals  the  founts  of  pleasure  up. 


22  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

VI. 

Woe  is  me  that  Fame  allured  me — 

She  so  false,  and  I  so  blind  ! 
Sweet  her  smiles,  but  in  the  chase 
I  have  lost  the  happy  face 

Of  my  comrade  Peace  of  Mind  ; 
And  instead.  Remorse,  pale  phantom, 

Tracks  my  feet  where'er  I  go ; 
All  the  day  I  see  her  scowling, 
In  my  sleep  I  hear  her  howling, 

Wildly  flitting  to  and  fro. 

VII. 

Last  of  all  my  dear  companions, 

Hope  !  sweet  Hope !  befriend  me  yet. 
Do  not  from  my  side  depart, 
Do  not  leave  my  lonely  heart 

All  to  darkness  and  regret. 
Short  and  sad  is  now  my  voyage 

O'er  this  gloom-encompass'd  sea, 
But  not  cheerless  altogether. 
Whatsoe'er  the  wind  and  weather, 

Will  it  seem,  if  bless'd  with  thee. 

^  VIII. 

Dim  thine  eyes  are,  turning  earthwards. 
Shadowy  pale,  and  thin  thy  form  : — 
Tum'd  to  Heaven  thine  eyes  grow  bright. 
All  thy  form  expands  in  light. 
Soft  and  beautiful  and  warm. 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR. 

Look  then  upwards !  lead  me  heavenwards  1 

Guide  me  o'er  this  dark'ning  sea  ! 
Pale  Remorse  shall  fade  before  me, 
And  the  gloom  shall  brighten  o'er  me, 
If  I  have  a  friend  in  Thee, 


CASTLES    IN    THE    AIR. 
I. 
I  LOVE  to  lie  in  leafy  woods. 
When  summer  days  grow  long, 
To  hear  the  fall 
Of  brooklets  small, 
Or  blackbirds'  mellow  song : 
To  watch  the  dapple  clouds  afloat, 
And  trace  upon  the  sky, 
In  hues  of  light. 
All  golden  bright, 
A  thousand  castles  high. 
Stay,  O  Truth !  thy  hand  relentless, 

And,  I  prithee,  spare 
My  bowers  of  Bliss — so  beautiful — 
My  castles  in  the  air. 

II. 
In  one  abides  unchanging  Love; — 
No  guile  is  on  his  tongue, 
His  heart  is  clear, 
His  vow  sincere, 
His  passion  ever  young  : 


24:  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

And  Care  and  Penury  and  Pain 
k  Are  powerless  to  destroy 

His  early  heat, 
Communion  sweet, 
And  still  recurring  joy. 
Smooth,  O  Truth !  thy  brow  majestic, 

And  in  pity  spare 
My  bower  of  Love  so  beautiful — 
My  castle  in  the  air. 

in. 

True  Friendship,  in  my  sky-built  halls, 
Her  presence  has  bestow'd ; 
Each  airy  dome 
Is  Virtue's  home. 
And  Honour's  own  abode; 
And  there  they  flourish  evermore, 
And  twine  together  still, 

Though  fortune  blind, 
And  men  unkind. 
Conspire  to  work  them  ill. 
Prithee,  Truth,  look  down  auspicious. 

Stay  thine  hand,  and  spare 
My  bower,  for  Faith  and  Friendship  built- 
My  castle  in  the  air. 

IV. 

The  statesmen,  governors,  and  kings, 
That  in  my  mansions  dwell, 

Desire  not  pelf. 

Nor  think  of  self. 
But  love  their  country  well. 


CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR.  25 

They  give  to  Merit  just  reward, 

To  Guilt  befitting  shame,  * 

And  shower  on  worth. 
And  not  on  birth, 
The  dignities  of  fame. 
Truth,  I  prithee,  stay  thine  anger. 

And  my  buildings  spare, 
My  bowers  for  Public  Virtue  built — • 
My  castles  in  the  air. 


Smile  on  them.  Truth  !  behold  how  bright 
They  glitter  in  the  skies. 
Behold  how  proud, 
0*er  mist  and  cloud, 
Their  golden  turrets  rise. 
But  no  !  thou  frownest,  and  in  vain 
Thine  angry  looks  I  shun  ; 
My  castles  tall 
Down  crumbling  fall, 
Like  ice-drops  in  the  sun. 
Thou  hast  destroy'd  my  visions  lovely, 

All  my  mansions  fair. 
My  bowers  of  Bliss — so  beautiful— 
My  castles  in  the  air. 


26  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


A  CANDID   WOOING. 


I  CANNOT  give  thee  all  my  heart, 

Lady,  lady — 
My  faith  and  country  claim  a  part, 

My  sweet  lady  : 
But  yet  I'll  pledge  thee  word  of  mine 
That  all  the  rest  is  truly  thine. 
The  raying  passion  of  a  boy, 
Warm  though  it  be,  will  quickly  cloy — 
Confide  thou  rather,  in  the  man 
Who  vows  to  love  thee  all  he  can, 

My  sweet  lady. 


IL 

Affection,  founded  on  respect, 

Lady,  lady. 
Can  never  dwindle  to  neglect, 

My  sweet  lady. 
And  while  thy  gentle  virtues  live, 
Such  is  the  love  that  I  will  give. 
The  torrent  leaves  its  channel  dry  ; 
The  brook  runs  on  incessantly  : 
The  storm  of  passion  lasts  a  day. 
But  deep  true  love  endures  alway, 

My  sweet  lady. 


THE  VOICE   OF  THE  TIME.  27 


III. 

Accept  then  a  divided  heart, 

Lady,  lady. 
Faith,  Friendship,  Honour — each  have  part, 

My  sweet  lady. 
While  at  one  altar  we  adore. 
Faith  shall  but  make  us  love  the  more ; 
And  Friendship,  true  to  all  beside, 
"Will  ne'er  be  fickle  to  a  bride; 
And  Honour,  based  on  manly  truth, 
Shall  love  in  age  as  well  as  youth. 

My  sweet  lady. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TIME. 


Day  unto  day  utters  speech — 
Be  wise,  O  ye  nations  !  and  hear 
What  yesterday  telleth  to-day. 
What  to-day  to  the  morrow  will  preach. 
A  change  cometh  over  our  sphere. 
And  the  old  goeth  down  to  decay. 
A  new  light  hath  dawn'd  on  the  darkness  of  yore, 
And  men  shall  be  slaves  and  oppressors  no  more. 


28  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

IL 

Hark  to  the  throbbing  of  tbougbt, 

In  the  breast  of  the  wakening  world  : — 
Over  land,  over  sea,  it  hath  come. 
The  serf  that  was  yesterday  bought, 
To-day  his  defiance  hath  hurl'd, 
!N"o  more  in  his  slavery  dumb  ; 
And  to-morrow  will  break  from  the  fetters  that  bind, 
And  lift  a  bold  arm  for  the  rights  of  mankind. 

III. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  time ! 

The  multitude  think  for  themselves. 
And  weigh  their  condition,  each  one. 
The  drudge  has  a  s^Dirit  sublime. 

And  whether  he  hammers  or  delves, 
He  reads  when  his  labour  is  done ; 
And  learns,  though  he  groan  under  penury's  ban. 
That  freedom  to  think  is  the  bii'thriffht  of  man. 


IV. 

But  yesterday  thought  was  confined; 
To  breathe  it  was  peril  or  death, 

And  it  sank  in  the  breast  where  it  rose ; — 
Now,  free  as  the  midsummer  wind. 
It  sports  its  adventurous  breath. 

And  round  the  wide  universe  goes ; 
The  mist  and  the  cloud  from  its  pathway  are  curl'd, 
And  glimpses  of  glory  illumine  the  world. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TIME.  29 


The  voice  of  opinion  has  grown  : 

'Twas  yesterday  changeful  and  weak, 
Like  the  voice  of  a  boy  ere  his  prime  ; 
To-day  it  has  taken  the  tone 
Of  an  orator  worthy  to  speak, 

Who  knows  the  demands  of  the  time ; 
And  to-morrow  'twill  sound  in  Oppression's  cold  ear 
Like  the  trump  of  the  seraph  to  startle  our  sphere. 


VI. 

Be  wise,  O  ye  rulers  of  earth  1 

And  shut  not  your  ears  to  the  voice, 
Nor  allow  it  to  warn  you  in  vain; 
True  freedom,  of  yesterday's  birth, 
"Will  march  on  its  way  and  rejoice, 
And  never  be  conquer'd  again. 
The  day  has  a  tongue — ay,  the  hours  utter  speech — 
Wise,  wise  will  ye  be,  if  ye  learn  what  they  teach ! 


30  BALLADS  AND   LYEICAL  POEMS. 

THE   CRY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  — 1845. 
(bbfobe  the  bepeal  op  the  corn  laws.) 


Our  backs  are  bow'd  witli  the  exceeding  weight 

Of  toil  and  sorrow ;  and  our  pallid  faces 
Shrivel  before  their  time.     Early  and  late 

We  labour  in  our  old  accustom'd  places, 
Beside  our  close  and  melancholy  looms, 

Or  wither  in  the  coal-seams  dark  and  dreary, 
Or  breathe  sick  vapours  in  o'ercrowded  rooms. 

Or  in  the  healthier  fields  dig  till  we  weary. 
And  grow  old  men  ere  we  have  reacli'd  our  prime, 
With  scarce  a  wish,  but  death,  to  ask  of  Time. 


II. 

For  it  is  hard  to  labour  night  and  day, 

With  sleep-defrauded  eyes  and  temples  aching. 
To  earn  the  scanty  crust,  which  fails  to  stay 

The  hunger  of  our  little  ones,  that  waking 
Weep  for  their  daily  bread.     'Tis  hard  to  see 

The  flow'rets  of  our  household  fade  in  sadness. 
In  the  dank  shadow  of  our  misery. 

'Tis  hard  to  have  no  thought  of  human  gladness, 
But  one  engrossing  agony  for  bread, 
To  haunt  us  at  our  toil,  and  in  our  bed. 


THE   CRY   OF  THE  PEOPLE.  31 

III. 

[nd  many  of  us,  worn  with  age  and  pain — 

Old  wither'd  leaves  of  men,  who,  fading,  cumber, 
Long  for  that-  pleasant  fosse,  six  feet  by  twain, 

Impervious  to  all  grief,  where  we  may  slumber. 
And  others  of  us,  more  unhappy  still, 

Youthful,  warm-blooded,  with  a  life  to  cherish. 
Offer  in  vain  our  sinews  and  our  skill 

For  starving  recompense,  and  yet  must  perish 
In  our  young  days,  and  on  a  fruitful  soil. 
Because  our  food  is  dearer  than  our  toil. 


IV. 

*Tis  hard  to  know  that  the  increase  of  wealth 

Makes  us  no  richer,  gives  us  no  reliance  ; 
And  that  while  ease,  and  luxury,^  and  health 

Follow  the  footsteps  of  advancing  science. 
They  shower  no  benefits  on  us,  cast  out 

From  the  fair  highways  of  the  world,  to  wander 
In  dark  paths  darkly  groping  still  about, 

And  at  each  turn  condemn'd  to  rest,  and  ponder 
If  living  be  the  only  aim  of  life — 
Mere  living,  purchased  by  perpetual  strife. 


V. 

We  rise  in  grief — in  grief  lie  down  again ; 

And  whither  to  turn  for  aid  in  our  deep  anguish 
We  know  not — yet  we  feel  that  we  are  men. 

Born  to  live  out  our  days — and  not  to  languish 


32  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

As  if  we  had  no  souls ;  as  if,  stone-blind, 

We  knew  not  spring  was  fair;  and  that  the  summer 

Kipen'd  the  fruits  of  earth  with  influence  kind  ; 
That  harvest  ought  to  be  a  welcome  comer 

To  us  and  ours  ;  and  that  in  Nature's  face. 

Were  smiles  of  joy  for  all  the  human  race. 

VI. 

We  ask  not  much.     We  have  no  dread  of  toil  ;— 

Too  happy  we,  if  labour  could  provide  us. 
Even  though  we  doubled  all  our  sweat  and  moil, 

Eaiment  and  food — and  shelt'ring  roofs  to  hide  us 
From  the  damp  air,  and  from  the  winter's  cold; — 

If  we  could  see  our  wives  contented  round  us. 
And  to  our  arms  our  little  children  fold, 

Nor  fear  that  next  day's  hunger  should  confound  us. 
With  joys  like  these,  and  one  sweet  day  of  rest. 
We  would  complain  no  more,  but  labour,  bless'd. 

VIL 

But  these  we  sigh  for  all  our  days  in  vain. 

And  find  no  remedy  where'er  we  seek  it ; — 
Some  of  us,  reckless,  and  grown  mad  with  pain 

And  hungry  vengeance,  have  broke  loose  to 
wreak  it  : — 
Have  made  huge  bonfires  of  the  hoarded  corn, 

And  died  despairing.     Some  to  foreign  regions. 
Hopeless  of  this,  have  sail'd  away  forlorn. 

To  find  new  homes  and  swear  a  new  allegiance. 
But  we  that  stay'd  behind  had  no  relief, 
No  added  corn,  and  no  diminish'd  grie£ 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  33 

VIII. 

And  rich  men  kindly  urge  us  to  endure, 

And  they  will  send  us  clergymen  to  bless  us  j 
And  lords  who  play  at  cricket  with  the  poor, 

Think  they  have  cured  all  evils  that  oppress  us. 
And  then  we  think  endurance  is  a  crime ; 

That  those  who  wait  for  justice  never  gain  it ; 
And  that  the  multitudes  are  most  sublime 

When,  rising  arm'd,  they  combat  to  obtain  it. 
And  dabbling  in  thick  gore,  as  if  'twere  dew, 
Seek  not  alone  their  rights,  but  vengeance  too. 

IX. 

But  these  are  evil  thoughts ;  for  well  we  know, 

From  the  sad  history  of  all  times  and  places, 
That  fire,  and  blood,  and  social  overthrow. 

Lead  but  to  harder  grinding  of  our  faces 
When  all  is  over  :  so,  from  strife  withdrawn. 

We  wait  in  patience  through  the  night  of  sorrow, 
And  watch  the  far-off  glimpses  of  the  dawn 

That  shall  assure  us  of  a  brighter  morrow. 
And  meanwhile,  from  the  overburden'd  sod, 
Our  cry  of  anguish  rises  up  to  God, 


34  BALLADS   AND   LYKICAL   POEMS. 


A  LOVER'S  LOGIC. 


I  AM  skill'd  in  magic  lore, 

And  can  tell  thee,  dearest  maiden. 
What  the  winds  at  evening  say, 
As  amid  the  boughs  they  play  j — 
What  the  river  to  its  shore, 
Softly  whispers  evermore 

From  its  heart  o'erladen. 

II. 

I  can  tell  thee  how  the  moon 

Breathes  persuasion  to  the  billows  ; 

What  discourse  the  mountain  msikes 

To  its  shadow-loving  lakes ; 

And  conceal'd  in  lonely  nooks 

What  the  little  devious  brooks 
Murmur  to  the  willows. 


IIL 

"Love  thou  me — for  I  love  thee," 

Is  the  song  they  sing  for  ever. 
At  this  moment  I  can  hear 
The  responses  ringing  clear; 
And  the  very  stars  repeat 
To  the  moon  an  answer  sweet— 
"Love  shall  perish  never." 


REAL  AND  IDEAL.  35 

IV. 

And  if  thus  Earth,  Sea,  and  Sky 

Find  a  voice  to  sing  their  passion, 

Should  we  fail,  my  dearest  maid. 

Wandering  in  this  greenwood  shade, 

To  repeat  the  same  sweet  song. 

We  should  do  their  music  wrong, 
And  be  out  of  fashion. 


REAL  AND  IDEAL. 

A  FRAGMENT. 
L 

Two  friends  were  sitting  in  a  chamber  fair, 
Hung  round  with  pictures,  and  in  every  nook 

MU'd  with  choice  tomes  and  busts  and  marbles  rare. 
One  sat  apart — and  one  with  listless  look 
Turn'd  o'er,  unread,  the  pages  of  a  book ; 

Both   young — and    one    who    seem'd    with    sadness 
fraught. 

Thus  to  the  other  breathed  his  secret  thought. 

IL 

*'  Txn  weary,  Basil,  of  this  ceaseless  din  : — 

The  world  hath  beat  against  my  heart,  and  worn 

By  the  rude  contact  of  its  vice  and  sin, 
The  purity  and  freshness  of  its  morn; — 
Tutor'd  in  callousness,  adept  in  scorn. 

Virtue  and  Friendship,  Honour,  Love,  and  Fame, 

Are  things  to  me  no  more,  each  dwindled  to  a  name 
D  2 


36  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


in. 

"  I'm  weary  of  the  world,  and  daily  sigli 

For  some  green  resting-place — some  forest  cave, 

Guarded  by  distance  from  the  intruding  eye 
Of  civil  fool  and  sycophantic  knave — 
With  none  to  flatter  me,  and  cringe  and  crave 

For  driblets  of  the  gold  which  I  despise, 

And  all  who  ask  it  with  their  fawning  eyes. 


IV. 

"I'm  weary  of  this  pomp  and  ceaseless  thrall, 
And  pine  for  peace  in  wild  woods  far  away; 

Though  gold  the  fetters,  still  they  chafe  and  gall ; 
Though  jewel-hilted,  still  the  sword  will  slay; 
Though  set  with  diamonds  of  the  richest  ray. 

The  glittering  cup  that  held  the  poison-draught 

Provides  no  antidote  to  him  who  quaff'd. 


V. 

"  I  will  away,  and  hide  me  in  a  bower ; — 
Or  roam  the  forest,  climb  the  mountain-peak, 

Or  muse  by  waterfalls  at  evening's  hour. 

Or  count  the  blushes  on  the  morning's  cheek, 
Or  in  deep  silence  of  the  midnight,  seek 

Communion  with  the  stars,  that  I  may  know 

How  petty  is  this  ball  on  which  we  come  and  go. 


EEAL  AND  IDEAL.  37 


VL 


"That  I  may  learn  what  maggots  on  a  crust 
Are  men  on  earth  ;  and  then,  perchance,  I  may 

Find  some  revival  of  forgotten  trust, 

Some  flower  of  faith  fast  fading  to  decay. — 
Here  in  these  hollow  crowds,  heart-sick  I  stray, 

And  find  a  void — and  all  my  days  I  grieve 

That  nothing  more  is  left  me  to  believe. 


VII. 

"Love? — It  is  bought  for  miserable  gold. 

The  fairest  creature  that  the  earth  e'er  saw, — 

Fashion'd  in  beauty's  most  delicious  mould, 
Modest,  accomplish'd,  pure  without  a  flaw, 
"Would  sell  herself,  with  proper  form  of  law, 

For  half  my  wealth ;  or  ogle  to  trepan 

A  Negro  Croesus,  or  a  Mussulman. 


VIII. 

"  Friendship  ? — Like  midges  on  a  beam,  the  horde 
Throng  numberless  ;  and  every  man  pretends 

My  virtues  only  lure  him  to  my  board — 
He  hath  no  selfish  interest,  no  ends 
To  serve  but  mine.     Oh  kind,  oh  generous  friends  ! 

What  would  ye  do  should  all  the  ducats  fail  ? — 

Fail  too — dissolving  like  the  summer  hail. 


38         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


IX. 

"  Fame  1 — ^It  is  pleasant — ^but  alas  !  not  worth 
The  panting  and  the  toiling  to  acquire. 

Is  any  object  on  this  paltry  earth 

So  great,  that  man  should  waste  his  soul  of  fire, 
And  carry  in  his  heart  the  fierce  desire 

For  threescore  years,  then  die  without  the  prize. 

Which  fools,  meantime,  have  snatched  before  his  eyesi 


"  "What  is  there  left  1     Long  studied  in  the  schools 
Of  doubt  and  disbelief,  my  faith  is  dead  : 

I've  measured  God  by  algebraic  rules, 
And  in  a  maze  of  logic  long  misled. 
Having  no  faith,  have  set  up  Chance  instead  ; 

Sought  refuge  in  denial,  to  revolve 

No  more  the  problem  which  I  cannot  solve. 


XL. 

"I'm  weary,  weary,  and  would  be  alone. 
Away  from  cities  and  their  stifling  crowd. 

Far  from  the  scenes  where  folly  on  her  throne. 
For  rich  and  poor,  for  simple  and  for  proud, 
Utters  her  laws  and  proclamations  loud. 

I'm  weary — and  will  hence,  and  hide  in  woods, 

And  feed  on  quiet  in  their  solitudes." 


I 


REAL  AND   IDEAL.  39 


XII. 


^Whatr'   said  his  friend— « Thou,  Julian!   steep'd 
in  wealth, 
The  young,  the  handsome,  arid  the  nobly  bom, 

Endow'd  with  choicest  gifts  of  strength  and  health — 
Dost  thou  indulge  this  misanthropic  scorn, 
And  rail  at  Fortune  in  thy  youth's  fair  morn  ? 

And  turn  disgusted  from  enjoyment's  cup, 

With  its  rich  licjuor  bubbling  ever  up  ? 


XIII. 

"  Arouse  thee  from  this  lethargy  of  soul — 

Shake  off  the  weight  that  bears  thy  spirit  down — 

'Tis  but  the  offspring  of  the  extra  bowl 

We  drain'd  last    night.     Smooth   from   thy  brow 

the  frown. 
There  hangs  a  gloom  on  the  expectant  town 

When  thou  art  sad  : — Come,  be  thyself  again, 

Nor  with  the  lore  of  fools  beduU  thy  brain. 


XIV. 
"Hear  my  philosophy,  and  weigh  with  thine 

The  truer  wisdom  that  my  tongue  shall  teach  :- 
Not  ever  shall  our  noon  of  manhood  shine. 

Nor  pleasure  woo  us  with  entrancing  speech  ; 

Not  ever  shall  our  arms  have  power  to  reach 
The  golden  fruit,  that  hangs  on  every  bough, 
In  the  fair  garden  where  we  wander  now. 


40         BALLADS  AND  LYEICAL  POEMS. 


XV. 

"  Short  on  tlie  earth  is  our  allotted  time, 
And  short  our  leisure  to  lament  and  weep ; 

Nature,  all  bounteous,  deems  denial  crime, 
And  sows  a  harvest  for  the  wise  to  reap. 
So  fill  the  goblet  high — ^but  drain  not  deep  ; 

And  if  at  morn  you  toil,  at  evening  rest — 

To-day's  denial  is  to-morrow's  zest. 


XVI. 

"Be  temperate  only  to  enjoy  the  more— 
So  shall  no  dainty  on  thy  palate  pall ; 

And  cease  with  fools  and  bigots  to  deplore 

That  earth's  no  heaven,  and  man  not  perfect  all: 
Still  make  the  best  of  whatsoe'r  befall, 

Nor  rail  at  fortune,  though  the  jade  is  blind, 

Nor  launch  thy  bitter  scorn  on  human  kind. 


XVII. 

"Hope  little — thou  wilt  be  the  less  deceived — 
In  Love  and  Friendship  be  thy  rule  the  same  : 

And  if  by  Julia's  cruelty  aggrieved, 

At  Laura's  altar  light  another  flame, — 

And  if  she  scorn  thee,  swear  by  Dora's  name ; — 

Nor  cling  to  either  with  so  fond  a  heart 

That  it  would  cause  thee  half  a  pang  to  part. 


KEAL  AND  IDEAL.  41 


XVIII. 

*^  For  passion  is  the  bane  of  mortal  bliss, 

The  flame  that  scorches — not  the  ray  that  cheers ; 
nd  every  tragedy  but  teaches  this — 
Who  sows  in  passion,  reaps  in  blood  and  tears ; 
And  he  who  to  his  soul  too  much  endears 
The  sweetest,  best,  and  fairest  of  her  kind, 
But  makes  a  despot  to  enthral  his  mind. 


XIX. 

"  Nor  let  thy  savage  virtue  take  offence 

If  friends  should  love  thee  better  rich  than  poor ; — 

It  may  be  feeling,  but  it  is  not  sense — 

Ripeness  of  heart,  but  judgment  immature — 
To  look  for  friendship  that  shall  aye  endure ; 

Or  think  the  lamp  would  show  the  same  bright  ray 

Should  the  oil  fail,  and  riches  melt  away. 


XX. 

"Nor  let  desire  of  Fame  perplex  thy  thought — 
Poor  are  the  objects  that  Ambition  seeks. 

The  applause  of  dunces  is  too  dearly  bought 

By  nerveless  limbs,  care-deaden'd  eyes,  and  cheeks 
Furrow'd  before  their  time  by  aged  streaks ; 

And  the  true  wisdom  never  stops  to  weigh 

A  shadowy  Morrow  with  a  real  To-day. 


42         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


XXL 

"  Enjoy  the  present — gild  the  passing  hour— > 
Nor  drain  the  cup  ; — nor  fill  it  to  the  brim ; — 

For  us  shall  Beauty  open  wide  her  bower, 
And  sparkling  eyes  in  tender  languor  swim ; 
For  us  shall  joy  awake  the  jubilant  hymn  j 

And  round  us  gather  every  young  delight 

That  wealth  can  buy,  for  taste,  or  touch,  or  sight." 


XXIL 

"No,  Basil,  no — I  pine  for  a  belief; 

Fm  wearied  with  my  doubts,  and  fain  would  rest. 

Long  have  I  clutch'd,  in  bitterness  and  grief, 
At  all  these  phantoms,  beautifully  drest 
In  colours  brighter  than  the  rainbow's  vest. 

No,  my  friend  Basil — not  in  these  I  trust, 

Begun  in  folly,  ending  in  disgust. 


XXIIL 

"My  soul,  long  darken'd,  languishes  for  light — 
And  with  an  utterance  labours  night  and  day. 

I  see  a  vision  dawning  on  my  sight, 
I  hear  a  music  faint  and  far  away — 
I  hear  a  voice  which  says,  'Not  all  of  clay 

Thy  mortal  being — raise  thyself,  O  clod ! 

Look  up,  O  finite,  infinite  in  God.' 


EEAL  AND  IDEAL.  48 


XXIV. 


r 

^V'  Oh,  that  I  could  believe !  oh,  that  my  soul 
^^     Could  trust  in  something,  and  my  weary  mind 
Burst  all  unfetter'd  from  the  dull  control 

Of  doubt,  that  thinks  it  sees,  but  still  is  blind ! 
That  I  could  cling  to  some  one  of  my  kind — 
Some  gentle  soul  whose  love  might  be  the  ray 
To  lead  me  to  belief)  and  brighten  all  the  way. 


XXV. 

"  Faith  shall  be  born  of  Love — oh,  happy  pair  ! 
Would  ye  but  smile  upon  my  darkening  road, 

No  more  my  heart,  imprison'd  by  despair. 
Should  find  its  sympathies  too  great  a  load, 
Doubtful  alike  of  self,  of  kind,  of  God. — 

I  will  away  from  all  this  pomp  and  jar. 

And  commune  with  my  soul  in  solitudes  afar." 


44  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


HEAD     AND     HEART. 


AN  UNDECIDED  DISPUTE. 


Said  Head  to  Heart,  "You  lead  me  wrong: 
The  pulse  of  passion  beats  too  strong. 
You  are  the  dupe  of  tears  and  sighs  ; 
You  take  the  Judgment  by  surprise ; 

II. 

"You  melt  at  every  sorrowing  tale, 
Let  Feeling  over  Will  prevail ; 
And  still,  by  impulse  led  astray, 
You  draw  me  from  the  prudent  way. 

IIL 

"  When  I  would  walk  a  steady  pace ; 
Impetuous,  you  would  run  a  race  ; 
And  ere  a  doubtful  case  I've  tried, 
You've  prompted  Pity  to  decide. 

IV. 

"By  bounds  of  Eeason  unconfined. 
No  space  your  sympathies  can  bind ; 
For,  wayward  as  a  petted  child. 
You  scorn  restraint,  and  wander  wild. 


HEAD   AND  HEART.  45 

V. 

"I  pray  you,  Heart,  these  freaks  forbear; 
They  cause  me  shame,  they  breed  me  care ; 
And  I  am  blamed  for  going  wrong, 
And  counted  weak  that  you  are  strong." 

VI. 

Said  Heart  to  Head,  "  You're  cold  and  slow  ; 
You  cast  a  damp  on  Feeling's  glow; 
You  are  like  water  on  the  fire ; 
You  are  a  clog  on  my  desire. 

VII. 

"You  measure  Passion  by  a  rule. 
You  send  the  sympathies  to  school, 
And,  slave  to  logic  and  its  laws, 
You  weigh,  you  ponder,  and  you  pause. 

VIII. 
"When  I  would  prompt  the  pitying  tear, 
You  purse  the  lip  and  look  severe. 
And  quick  to  doubt  and  slow  to  grieve, 
You  lecture  when  you  should  relieve. 


IX. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  galling  to  be  tied 

To  one  so  sluggish  to  decide. 

Who  chills  me  when  I  glow'd  before, 

And  clings  to  earth  when  I  would  soar." 


46  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

X. 

The  silent  contest  lasted  long, 

For  both  were  right ; — ^yet  both  were  wrong. 

"  Strive,"  to  my  secret  soul  I  said, 

"  To  reconcile  the  Heart  and  Head. 

XI. 

"And  let  the  Heart  too  warm  and  free, 
Too  sudden  in  its  energy, 
Pause  for  the  advice  of  cooler  Tact, 
And  learn  to  think  before  it  act. 

XII. 

"Let  Head,  too  prone  to  reason  still, 
Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 
Consent  to  play  a  warmer  part. 
Led  by  the  dictates  of  the  Heart." 


47 


LITTLE  FOOLS  AND  GREAT  ONES. 


When  at  the  social  board  you  sit, 

And  pass  around  the  wine, 
Bemember,  though  abuse  is  vile, 

That  use  may  be  divine  : 
That  Heaven,  in  kindness,  gave  the  grape 

To  cheer  both  great  and  small — 
That  little  fools  will  drink  too  much, 

But  great  ones  not  at  all. 

II. 

And  when  in  youth's  too  fleeting  hours 

You  roam  the  earth  alone. 
And  have  not  sought  some  loving  heart 

That  you  may  make  your  own : — 
Bemember  woman's  priceless  worth, 

And  think,  when  pleasures  pall — 
That  little  fools  will  love  too  much. 

But  great  ones  not  at  alL 

III. 

And  if  a  friend  deceived  you  once. 

Absolve  poor  human  kind, 
Nor  rail  against  your  fellow-man 

With  malice  in  your  mind ; 


48  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

But  in  your  daily  intercourse, 

Remember,  lest  you  fall — 
That  little  fools  confide  too  much, 

But  great  ones  not  at  all. 

IV. 

In  weal  or  woe  be  trustful  still; 

And  in  the  deepest  care 
Be  bold  and  resolute,  and  shun 

The  coward  foe  Despair. 
Let  work  and  hope  go  hand  in  hand; 

And  know,  whate'er  befall — 
That  little  fools  may  hope  too  much. 

But  great  ones  not  at  all. 

V. 

In  work  or  pleasure,  love  or  drink, 

Your  rule  be  still  the  same — 
Your  work  not  toil,  your  pleasure  pure. 

Your  love  a  steady  flame  ; 
Your  drink  not  maddening,  but  to  cheer  ;- 

So  shall  your  bliss  not  pall. 
For  little  fools  enjoy  too  much. 

But  great  ones  not  at  all. 


49 

LOST  AND  WOltf. 


An  idler,  on  the  shady  sward  extended, 

Lay  listless  on  a  summer's  afternoon  : 
Thick    boughs    and    numerous    leaves     above     him 
blended 

Into   an    arch,    through    which    the    beams    were 
strewn 
Upon  the  grass,  like  ripples  on  a  river; 

There  was  a  sleepy  loveliness  around. 
The  quiet  winds  scarce  caused  the  leaves  to  quiver, 

And  vagrant  bees  fiew  by  with  drowsy  sound. 

II. 

Too  full  of  life  for  sleep — too  calm  for  waking, 

The  place  seem'd  fit  for  dreamer  such  as  he, 
Who,  worldly  thoughts  and  haunts  of  men  forsaking, 

Kesign'd  himself  to  lazy  luxury. 
His    thoughts    were    shapeless    as    the    winds,    and 
wander'd 

Aiar  in  cloud-land,  void  of  all  intent ; 
His  eyes  now  closed,  as  if  on  self  he  ponder'd. 

Now  open  to  the  leaves  and  firmament. 

III. 

Waking  or  sleeping,  or  if  day  or  morrow. 
He  knew  not — but  he  saw  seven  ladies  fair 

Beside  him,  with  pale  cheeks  and  looks  of  sorrow, 
And  tearful  eyes  and  long  dishevell'd  hair  : 

£ 


50  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

He  knew  them,  and  a  deep  remorse  came  o'er  him, 
A  shame  of  self  that  he  had  done  them  wrong  ; 

While  with  reproachful  looks  they  stood  before  him. 
And  one  broke  forth  into  this  mournful  song  : — 


IV. 

"Listen,"  she    said,    "and   hear   the    wrong    thou'st 
done  us. 
And  the  false  deeds  thou'st  wrought  against  thy 
soul ; 
The  summer  winds  shall  breathe  no  more  upon  us, 
We're    gone — our    place    is    fill'd — we've    reach'd 
the  goal. 
Our  melancholy  faces  look  not  sunward, 

But  back  in  shadow ;  and,  oh  !  never  more 
Can  we  return  to  thee  to  help  thee  onward. 
And  bring  thee  gladness  as  we  brought  before. 


V. 

"  We  stay'd  with  thee  long  time,  with  power  to  aid 
thee, 

Hadst  thou  but  struggled  with  an  earnest  mind, 
To  do  such  noble  deeds  as  might  have  made  thee 

Stand  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  human  kind. 
We  could  have  fill'd  thy  cup  to  overflowing, 

If  worldly  Wealth  found  favour  in  thy  sight ; 
If  Fame  inspired,  we  could  have  led  thee  glowing 

Up  the  steep  summit,  to  her  topmost  height. 


LOST   AND   WON.  51 

VI. 

"  If  Love  of  Knowledge  fired  thee  to  pursue  her, 

We    could    have    help'd    thee    to    her    courts    to 
climb — 
Smooth'd    the   rough    pathway — ^lent   thee  words  to 
woo  her, 

And  turn'd  the  pages  of  her  book  sublime. 
If  to  be  virtuous  were  thy  sole  ambition, 

We,  day  by  day,  had  taught  thee  to  excel ; 
Led  thee  to  raise  the  wretched  from  perdition, 

And  brought  their  blessings  to  reward  thee  well. 

VII. 

"  All  this,  and  more,  if  thou  hadst  duly  prized  us. 

For  thee,  life-waster,  could  our  aid  have  done ; 
But  thou  hast  scorn'd,  neglected,  and  despised  us, 

And  we  are  powerless,  and  our  course  is  run. 
We  are  but  shadows,  pallid  and  regretful, 

To  whom  no  future  can  a  form  restore  ; 
And  bearing  with  us,  from  thy  soul  forgetful. 

The  fair  occasions  that  return  no  more." 

VIII. 

Thus  as  she  spake,  his  face  in  shame  he  cover'd ; 

And  when  he  look'd  again,  he  was  alone. 
"  Departed  years,  whose  memory  round  me  hover'd, 

For  all  the  Past  the  Future  shall  atone," 
He  said — and  rising,  cast  away  for  ever 

The  philosophic  sloth  that  bound  his  soul ; 
Mix'd  with  mankind,  and,  strong  with  wise  endeavour, 

Toird  up  the  hill  of  Fame,  and  reach'd  the  goal. 
E  2 


52  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 


THE  DEATH  OF  PAN. 

Behold  the  vision  of  the  death  of  Pan. — 
I  saw  a  shadow  on  the  mountain-side, 
As  of  a  Titan  wandering  on  the  cliffs ; 
Godlike  his  stature,  but  his  head  was  bent 
Upon  his  breast,  in  agony  of  woe  ; 
And  a  voice  rose  upon  the  wintry  wind, 
Wailing  and  moaning — "  Weep,  ye  nations,  weep  ! 
Great  Pan  is  dying  : — mourn  me,  and  lament ! 
My  steps  shall  echo  on  the  hills  no  more  ; 
Dumb  are  mine  oracles — my  fires  are  quench'd. 
My  doom  is  spoken,  and  I  die — I  die  !" 

The  full  moon  shone  upon  the  heaving  sea, 
And  in  the  light,  with  tresses  all  unbound. 
Their  loose  robes  dripping,  and  with  eyes  downcast, 
The  nymphs  arose,  a  pallid  multitude. 
Lovely  but  most  forlorn  ;  and  thus  they  sang, 
With  voice  of  sorrow — "Never — never  more. 
In  these  cool  waters  shall  we  lave  our  limbs ; — 
Kever,  oh  never  more  !  in  sportive  dance 
Upon  these  crested  billows  shall  we  play ; — 
Nor  at  the  call  of  prayer-o'erburden'd  men 
Appear  in  answer ;  for  our  hour  is  come ; 
Great  Pan  has  fallen,  and  we  die  !  we  die  !" 

Emerging  slowly  from  the  trackless  woods, 
And  from  the  umbrageous  caverns  of  the  hills. 


THE  DEATH   OP  PA2T.  53 

Their  long  hair  floating  on  the  rough  cold  winds, 
Their  faces  pale,  their  eyes  suffused  with  tears. 
The  Dryads  and  the  Oreads  made  their  moan  : — 
"  Never,  oh  never  more  ! "  distraught,  they  cried, 
"Upon  the  mossy  banks  of  these  green  woods 
Shall  we  make  music  all  the  summer's  day ; — 
Never  again,  at  morn  or  noon  or  night, 
Upon  the  flowery  sward,  by  fount  or  stream. 
Shall  our  light  footsteps  mingle  in  the  dance  ; — 
Never  again,  discoursing  from  the  leaves 
And  twisted  branches  of  these  sacred  oaks. 
Shall  we  make  answer  at  a  mortal's  call ! 
Our  hour  is  come,  our  fire  of  life  is  quench'd  ; 
Our  voices  fade  ;  our  oracles  are  mute  ; 
Behold  our  agony  ; — we  die  !  we  die  !" 
And  as  they  sang,  their  unsubstantial  forms 
Grew  pale  and  lineless,  and  dispersed  in  air ; 
While  from  the  innermost  and  darkest  nooks. 
Deepest  embower'd  amid  those  woods  antique, 
A  voice  most  mournful  echo'd  back  their  plaint. 
And  cried — "OA  Misery  I  they  die  I  they  die  T 

Then  pass'd  a  shadow  o'er  the  moon's  pale  disc ; 

And  to  the  dust,  in  ecstasy  of  awe, 

I  bent  adoring.     On  the  mountain-tops 

Thick  darkness  crept,  and  silence  deep  as  death' 

Pervaded  Nature  :  the  wind  sank — the  leaves 

Forbore  to  flutter  on  the  bending  boughs, 

And  breathing  things  were  motionless  as  stones, 

As  earth,  revolving  on  her  mighty  wheel. 

Eclipsed  in  utter  dark  the  lamp  of  Heaven; 


54  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

And  a  loud  voice,  amid  that  gloom  sublime, 

"Was  heard  from  shore  to  sea,  from  sea  to  shore, 

Startling  the  nations  at  the  unwonted  sound, 

And  swelling  on  the  ear  of  mariners 

Far  tossing  on  their  solitary  barks, 

A  month's  long  voyage  from  the  nearest  land — 

"  Great  Pom  has  fallen^  for  ever,  ever  Trior e  /" 

The  shadow  pass'd — light  broke  upon  the  world  ; 
And  Nature  smiled,  rejoicing  in  the  beam 
Of  a  new  morning  blushing  from  the  East ; 
And  sounds  of  music  seem'd  to  fill  the  air, 
And  angel  voices  to  exclaim  on  high, 
"  Great  Pan  has  fallen  !  and  never  more  his  creed 
Shall  chain  the  free  intelligence  of  man. 
The  Christ  is  born,  to  purify  the  earth  ; 
To  raise  the  lowly,  to  make  rich  the  poor^ 
To  teach  a  faith  of  charity  and  love. 
Bejoice  !  rejoice  !  an  error  has  expired ; 
And  the  new  Truth  shall  reign  for  evermore  !" 


hO\Z  AWEAKV    Oi    THE    UOIil. 


55 


LOVE  AWEARY  OF  THE  WORLD. 


Oh  !  my  love  is  very  lovely, 

In  her  mind  all  beauties  dwell ; 
She  is  robed  in  living  splendour, 
Grace  and  modesty  attend  her, 

And  I  love  her  more  than  well. 
But  I'm  weary,  weary,  weary. 

To  despair  my  soul  is  hurl'd ; 
I  am  weary,  weary,  weary, 

I  am  weary  of  the  world  ! 

II. 

She  is  kind  to  all  about  her, 

For  her  heart  is  pity's  throne ; 
She  has  smiles  for  all  men's  gladness, 
She  has  tears  for  every  sadness, 

She  is  hard  to  me  alone. 
And  I'm  weary,  weary,  weary. 

From  a  love-lit  summit  hurl'd ; 
I  am  weary,  weary,  weary, 

I  am  weary  of  the  world  1 


IIL 
When  my  words  are  words  of  wisdom, 

All  her  spirit  I  can  move; 
At  my  wit  her  eyes  will  glisten. 
But  she  flies,  aud  will  not  listen. 

If  I  dare  to  speak  of  love. 


56  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

Oh  !  I'm  weary,  weary,  weary, 
By  a  storm  of  passions  wliirFd  ; 

I  am  weary,  weary,  weary, 
I  am  weary  of  the  world  I 

IV. 

True,  that  there  are  others  fairer — 

Fairer  *? — ISTo,  that  cannot  be — 
Yet  some  maids  of  equal  beauty, 
High  in  soul  and  firm  in  duty. 

May  have  kinder  hearts  than  she, 
"Why,  my  heart,  so  weary,  weary. 

To  and  fro  by  passion  whirl'd? — 
Why  so  weary,  weary,  weary, 

"Why  so  weary  of  the  world  1 

V. 

Were  my  love  but  passing  fancy^ 

To  another  I  might  turn ; 
But  I'm  doom'd  to  love  unduly 
One  who  will  not  answer  truly. 

And  who  freezes  when  I  burn  ; 
And  I'm  weary,  weary,  weary. 

To  despair  my  soul  is  hurl'd  ; 
I  am  weary,  weary,  weary, 

I  am  weary  of  the  world  1 


I 


57 


THE  LOVER'S  SECOND  THOUGHTS  ON  WORLD- 
WEARINESS. 

t 

Heart  !  take  courage  !  'tis  not  worthy 

For  a  woman's  scorn  to  pine: 
If  her  cold  indifference  wound  thee, 
There  are  remedies  around  thee 

For  such  malady  as  thine. 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary, 

From  thy  love-lit  summits  hurl'd  ; 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary. 

Weary,  weary  of  the  world ! 

II. 

If  thou  must  be  loved  by  woman, 

Seek  again — the  world  is  wide ; 
It  is  full  of  loving  creatures. 
Fair  in  form,  and  mind,  and  features — 

Choose  among  them  for  thy  bride. 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary. 

To  and  fro  by  passion  whirl'd : 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary. 

Weary,  weary  of  the  world  ! 

in. 

Or  if  Love  should  lose  thy  favour, 

Try  the  paths  of  honest  fame. 
Climb  Parnassus'  summit  hoary, 
Carve  thy  way  by  deeds  of  glory. 
Write  on  History's  page  thy  name. 


58  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

Be  no  longer  weary,  weary, 

To  the  depths  of  sorrow  hurl'd ; 

Be  no  longer  weary,  weary, 
Weary,  weary  of  the  world  1 

IV. 

Or  if  these  shall  fail  to  move  thee. 

Be  the  phantoms  unpursued. 
Try  a  charm  that  will  not  fail  thee 
When  old  age  and  grief  assail  thee — 

Try  the  charm  of  doing  good. 
Be  no  longer  weak  and  weary. 

By  the  storms  of  passion  whirl'd ; 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary, 

Weary,  weary  of  the  world ! 

V. 

Love  is  fleeting  and  uncertain. 

And  can  hate  where  it  adored; 
Chase  of  glory  wears  the  spirit. 
Fame  not  always  follows  merit, 

Goodness  is  its  own  reward. 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary, 

From  thine  happy  summits  hurl'd ; 
Be  no  longer  weary,  weary. 

Weary,  weary  of  the  world ! 


69 


THE  DKOP  OF  WATER. 


Alone,  amid  a  million  souls, 
Kound  him  the  tide  of  people  rolls  j 
But  lorn  and  desolate  is  he, 
None  heeding  what  his  lot  may  be — 
A  drop  of  water  in  the  sea. 

II. 
'Mid  all  the  crowds  that  round  him  swarm, 
He  feels  for  him  no  heart  will  warm ; 
There  is  not  one  that  knows  his  name. 
Or  cares  to  ask  him  whence  he  came  ; 
His  life  or  death  to  them  the  same. 

III. 

The  rich  man's  chariot  passes  by, 
And  lackeys  with  a  saucy  eye, 
From  outside  plush  and  inward  meals. 
Grin  at  him,  as  the  rattling  wheels 
Splash  him  all  o'er,  from  head  to  heels. 

IV, 

He  walketh  on,  a  friendless  boy. 
With  much  of  hope,  with  little  joy ; 
Elbow'd  for  ever  by  the  proud. 
As  if  they  grudged  the  room  allow'd 
To  this  mean  mortal  in  the  crowd. 


60  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


V. 

On  through  the  busy  mass  he  goes, 
But  whither  bent  he  scarcely  knows ; 
Through  lane  and  street,  and  park  and  square, 
And  looks  at  wealth  he  may  not  share, 
Though  he  is  hungry  and  half-bare. 


VI. 

For  him  amid  these  houses  small — 
For  him  amid  these  mansions  tall. 
There  is  not  one,  where  he  could  go, 
And  say,  "I  am  a  child  of  woe; 
To  cheer  me,  let  the  wine-cup  flow." 


VII. 

Ko ;  he  is  friendless  and  alone — 
To  no  one  are  his  sorrows  known — 
His  hope,  or  joy,  or  grief,  or  fear. 
There  is  not  one  would  care  to  hear. 
Or  say  the  word,  "Be  thou  of  cheer  !" 


VIII. 

And  evil  thoughts  will  sometimes  rise, 
When  flaunting  wealth  aflronts  his  eyes  ; 
Envy,  perchance,  and  discontent. 
That  he  into  this  world  was  sent — 
No  good  with  all  his  evils  blent. 


THE  DROP   OF  WATER. 


61 


IX. 

"No  good?"  saith  he.     "Ali,  surely  wrong! 

Fresh  health  and  youth  to  me  belong ; 

And  from  endurance  I  can  learn 

Still  to  endure,  and  never  turn 

From  the  high  thoughts  with  which  I  burn.'* 


X. 

And  still  within  himself  he  says, 
"Each  man  must  pass  his  evil  days — 
Each  man  should  suffer  ere  his  prime. 
If  up  the  world's  high  steeps  he'd  climb, 
Some  grief  to  fit  him  for  his  time. 


XI. 

"  I  am  not  all  alone  nor  sad ; 

The  face  of  Nature  makes  me  glad, 

The  breath  of  morn,  the  evening's  sigh, 

The  contemplation  of  the  sky, 

That  fills  my  soul  with  yearnings  high  ;- 


xir. 

"  The  leafy  glory  of  the  woods. 
The  rushing  of  the  mountain  floods, 
The  wind  that  bends  the  lofty  tree, 
The  roaring  of  the  eternal  sea, — 
All  yield  an  inward  joy  to  me. 


BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 


XTIL 

I  find  a  pleasure  in  the  sight 

Of  meadows  green  and  corn-fields  bright ; 

I  find  a  pleasure  in  the  lay 

Of  birds  that  hail  the  breaking  day, 

Or  warble  to  the  moonlight  gray. 


XIV. 

"  If  no  man  loves  me,  Nature's  voice 
Is  kind,  and  bids  my  heart  rejoice  : 
The  path  I  go,  true  souls  have  trod; 
I  will  look  upwards  from  the  clod, 
Wifch  a  firm  heart,  and  trust  in  God." 


And  thus  he  walks  from  hour  to  hour, 
From  day  to  day,  and  gains  new  power 
Over  himself;  and  undismay'd, 
In  conscious  rectitude  array'd. 
He  labours  as  his  impulse  bade. 

XVI. 

He  looks  on  hardship,  and  it  sinks  ; 
He  measures  peril,  and  it  shrinks  ; 
Before  him  difficulties  fly. 
Scared  by  that  quietude  of  eye, 
Serene  to  suffer  or  defy. 


THE  DROP   OF  WATER.  63 


XVII. 


And  still,  'mid  the  perennial  strife 
With  worldly  things,  that  makes  his  life, 
He  never  plays  the  worldling's  part, 
Or  ever  from  his  grateful  heart 
Allows  the  freshness  to  depart. 


XVIII. 

Amid  the  city's  ceaseless  hum, 
Still  to  his  soul  the  visions  come 
Of  the  green  woodlands  far  away, 
Where,  in  communion  all  the  day 
With  Nature,  he  was  wont  to  stray. 


XIX. 

And  mixing  with  his  fellows,  still 

He  finds  some  good  amid  the  ill ; 

And  pitying  those  whose  souls  are  blind, 

Nor  hating  those  of  evil  mind. 

He  learns  to  love  all  human  kind. 


XX. 

To  him  all  errors  of  the  past 
Teach  wisdom  where  his  lot  is  cast ; 
And  after  struggles  hard  and  long, 
With  self,  and  with  temptation  strong. 
And  pride  that  sought  to  lead  him  wrong,- 


64         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 
XXI. 

He  learns  this  truth ;  that  nought  below 

Can  lasting  recompense  bestow 

But  Virtue ; — that  the  Love  of  Fame 

Is  something  better  than  a  name, 

If  Love  of  Virtue  feed  its  flame ; — 

XXIL 

That  to  the  mind  not  mured  in  self, 
Nor  toiling  for  the  love  of  pelf, 
Wealth  may  be  worth  its  cost  of  brain, 
That  gives  the  power  to  solace  pain. 
And  lift  the  fallen  up  again. 

XXIII. 

Take  courage,  ye  who  wander  here. 
Lonely  and  sad,  and  be  of  cheer  ! 
This  man,  who  had  no  aids  to  climb, 
But  his  true  heart  and  soul  sublime, 
Lives  in  the  annals  of  his  time. 

XXIV. 

So,  by  an  ever  wise  decree, 
The  drop  of  water  in  the  sea 
Awakens  to  a  glorious  birth, 
Becomes  a  pearl  of  matchless  worth. 
And  shines  resplendent  in  the  earth. 


65 


THE  DIONYSIA ;  OR,  FESTIVALS  OF  BACCHUS. 

My  fancy  travell'd  back  three  thousand  years 
To  find  the  meaning  of  the  ancient  days, 
And  disencumber  their  simplicity 
From  the  corruptions  of  a  later  time. 
I  fashion'd  in  my  mind  the  god-like  shape 
Of  Dionysius,  mighty  conqueror, 
"Who  taught  the  early  nations  how  to  live  : 
No  vulgar  Bacchus  straddling  on  a  cask, 
Drunken  and  bestial,  but  a  king  of  men  ; 
Noble  in  intellect,  and  fair  in  form, 
With  ivy  and  with  budding  violets  crown'd, 
And  bearing  on  his  cheerful  face  the  glow 
Of  kindly  wisdom  and  perpetual  youth. 
So  to  my  thought  appear'd  the  demi-god ; 
The  same  that  taught  the  ignorant  hinds  of  Greece 
To  plough  the  soil,  and  reap  the  annual  corn; 
That  taught  the  grateful  villages  to  press 
The  grape  and  apple  for  refreshing  drink. 
To  clip  the  goat,  and  shear  the  sheep  for  wool, 
To  draw  from  willing  Earth  its  constant  stores 
Of  blessings,  and  be  thankful  for  the  gifts. 
Proving  their  thankfulness  by  temperate  use  : 
The  same  that  swept  his  armies  o'er  the  East, 
And  conquer'd  India — mightiest  name  malign'd — 
Philosopher  and  Hero.     Once  his  praise 
Pesounded  o'er  the  smiling  vales  of  Greece, 
And  youths  and  maidens  came  from  all  the  bowers 
To  chant  loud  hymns  in  honour  of  his  name ; 
.d  Athens — ere  she  rotted  to  her  fall 


I 


66  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

With  luxury,  lasciviousness,  and  slotli — 
Yied  with  all  Greece  to  celebrate  his  feasts 
With  greatest  pomp  of  high  solemnity. 

Come  from  your  graves,  ideas  of  the  past  ! 
And  live  again  in  song.     The  Athenian  streets 
Teem  with  a  multitude  of  young  and  old  : 
The  Archons,  and  the  people,  and  the  priests, 
To  celebrate  the  Dionysian  rites. 
With  dance,  and  song,  and  joyous  revelry. 
A  troop  of  youths  come  first,  who  hold  aloft 
Two  sacred  vessels.     One  is  filled  with  wine, 
And  one  with  water  :  holiest  the  last, 
For  water  is  the  mother  of  the  vine. 
The  nurse  and  fountain  of  fecundity, 
The  adorner  and  refresher  of  the  world. 
Then  come  a  hundred  virgins — flower  of  Greece- 
Clad  in  white  robes,  with  ivy  in  their  hair. 
Who  carry  baskets  fiU'd  with  choicest  fruits. 
With  apples  and  pomegranates,  figs  and  grapes, 
Amid  which  twine  and  slide  small  silvery  snakes, 
To  teach  the  people,  by  a  parable. 
There  dwells  a  poisonous  serpent  in  excess. 
The  thyrsus-bearers  follow  in  a  rout. 
With  drums,  and  pastoral  pipes,  and  mellow  flutes  : 
Amid  the  crowd  they  scatter  cones  of  pine. 
As  emblems  of  the  fruitfulness  of  Earth ; 
And  sing,  full-voiced,  the  Dionysian  hymn. 

lo  I  lo  I  Evoke  ! 
Let  the  dance  and  song  abound  : 
The  corn  is  springing  from  the  ground, 


r 

'^       The  v: 


THE  DIONYSIA.  67 


The  vine  puts  forth  its  tender  leaves, 
The  swallow  builds  in  barns  and  eaves — 

lo  I  Bacche  !  Evoke  I 
There  shall  be  bread  for  all  the  year, 
And  wine  the  heart  of  man  to  cheer — 
lo  I  lo  I  Evoke  ! 

lo  !  lo  !  EvohJe  ! 
For  these  bounties — ever  free — 
Ever  grateful  let  us  be, 
And  use  them  wisely,  day  and  night. 
For  health,  and  strength,  and  pure  delight. 

lo  !  Bacche  I  Evoke  ! 
God  of  the  water  and  the  wine, 
The  blessing's  ours,  the  praise  is  thine. 

lo  !  lo  !  Evoke  ! 


The  chorus  passes  j  and  another  crowd 
Follow  with  other  rites,  and  other  songs. 
Lo  !  mounted  on  an  ass,  Silenus  rides. 
Obese  and  drunken,  crown'd  with  poppy-flowers, 
And  reeling  as  he  sits.     Around  him  throng 
The  crowd  of  men  and  women,  shouting  forth 
Their  gibes  and  jests,  their  laughter  and  their  scorn. 
Wise  are  the  people,  even  in  rites  like  these ; 
Each  ceremony,  frantic  or  grotesque. 
Has  its  own  meaning,  and  subserves  an  end. 
Great  Dionysius  teaches  evermore 
The  principles  of  use,  and  temperate  joy. 
But  as  the  will  is  weak  when  pleasure  goads 
To  overstep  the  wholesome  boundaries 
That  separate  enjoyment  from  abuse, 
f2 


68  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

Silenus  ever  follows  in  Lis  train, 

The  type  of  gluttony,  excess,  and  lust. 

Him,  all  the  people  point  at  as  he  goes, 

Half-falling  from  his  ass  with  idiot  stare  ; 

And  mock  him  with  their  fingers  and  their  songs. 

Dirty  Silenus  !  god  of  swine. 
Drunken  on  the  lees  of  wine  ; 
Mad  Silenus  !  old  and  fat. 
Round  and  pond'rous  as  a  vat  : 
Youth  and  Beauty  gaze  on  thee, 
Warn'd  by  thy  deformity. 

Foolish  god  !  that  hast  grown  old 
Ere  thy  middle  life  is  told ; 
Bald  and  blear,  and  weak  and  dull. 
Ere  thy  growth  has  reach'd  its  full  j 
Mad  Silenus  !  god  of  swine, 
Drunken  on  the  lees  of  wine. 


k 


69 


YOUNG  GENIUS. 

Imbued  with,  the  seraphic  fire 

To  wake  the  music  of  the  lyre, 

To  love — to  know — and  to  aspire  : — 

Thou  seest  in  thy  youthful  dream 
All  Nature  robed  in  light  supreme, 
And  thou  wouldst  carol  in  the  beam; 

Happy — yet  most  unhappy  still ! 
I  dread  to  think  what  good  and  ill, 
What  joy  and  grief,  thy  heart  shall  fill ! 

Great  shall  thy  pleasures  be — thy  soul 
Shall  chant  with  planets  as  they  roll. 
Made  one  with  Nature — ^part  and  whole. 

The  clouds  that  flush  the  morning  sky, 
The  wind  that  wooes  the  branches  high, 
The  leaves  tliat  whisper  and  reply ; 

The  heart  of  every  living  thing. 

The  flowers  that  gem  the  breast  of  spring, 

The  russet  birds  that  soar  and  sing ; 

The  pendulous  click  of  night  and  day, 
The  change  of  seasons  as  they  play 
In  heavenly  unison  alway ; 


70  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

The  summer's  sigh,  the  winter's  roar, 
The  beat  of  billows  on  the  shore, 
Making  deep  music  evermore; 

All  sight,  all  sound,  all  sense  shall  be 
The  fountains  of  thine  ecstasy. 
And  daily  minister  to  thee. 

To  thee  the  past  shall  disengage 
The  wisdom  of  its  darkest  page. 
And  give  it  for  thy  heritage ; 

The  present,  with  its  hopes  and  fears. 
Its  struggles,  triumphs,  smiles,  and  tears. 
And  glory  of  the  coming  years ; 

All  shall  be  given  to  feed  thy  mind 
With  Love  and  Pity  for  thy  kind, 
And  every  sympathy  refined. 

All  these,  and  more,  shall  be  thine  own. 
And  round  thine  intellectual  throne 
The  applause  of  millions  shall  be  blown. 

Thy  words  shall  fill  the  mouths  of  men, 
The  written  lightnings  of  thy  pen 
Shall  flash  upon  their  wondering  ken. 

Oh  Fate — oh  Privilege  sublime  ! 

And  art  thou  tempted  1     Wilt  thou  climb  ? 

Young  genius  !  budding  to  thy  prime  ? 


YOUNG   GENIUS. 


71 


Reflect  : — and  weigh  the  loss  and  gain  ; 
All  joy  is  counterpoised  by  pain  : — 
And  nothing  charms  which  we  attain. 

"Who  loves  the  music  of  the  spheres 
And  lives  on  Earth,  must  close  his  ears 
To  many  voices  which  he  hears. 

'Tis  evermore  the  finest  sense 
That  feels  the  anguish  most  intense 
At  daily  outrage,  gross  and  dense. 

The  greater  joy  the  keener  grief, 
Of  ^Nature's  balances,  the  chief, 
She  grants  nor  favour,  nor  relief. 

And  vain,  most  vain,  is  youthful  trust, 
For  men  are  evermore  unjust 
To  their  superior  fellow-dust, — 

And  ever  turn  malicious  eyes 
On  those  whom  most  they  idolize, 
And  break  their  hearts  with  calumnies. 

Their  slanders,  like  the  tempest-stroke. 
May  leave  the  cowslip's  stem  unbroke, 
But  rend  the  branches  of  the  oak. 


If  Genius  live,  'tis  made  a  slave ; 
And  if  it  die — ^the  true  and  brave — 
Men  pluck  its  heart  out  on  its  grave, 


73         BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

And  then  dissect  it  for  the  throng, 

And  say,  "'Twas  this, — so  weak,  or  strong, 

That  pour'd  such  living  floods  of  song." 

Each  fault  of  Genius  is  a  crime, 
For  Cant  or  Folly  to  beslime — 
Sent  drifting  on  the  stream  of  Time. 

Wouldst  thou  escape  such  cruel  fate, 
Live  in  the  valley, — watch  and  wait, — 
But  climb  not — seek  not  to  be  great. 

Yet  if  thou  lovest  song  so  well, 

That  thou  must  sing,  though  this  betell 

And  worse  than  this,  ineffable  ; 

If  thou  wouldst  win  a  lasting  fame ; 

If  thou  the  immortal  wreath  wouldst  claim, 

And  make  the  Future  bless  thy  name ; 

Begin  thy  perilous  career ; — 

Keep  high  thy  heart,  thy  conscience  clear ; — 

And  walk  thy  way  without  a  fear. 

And  if  thou  hast  a  voice  within, 
That  ever  whispers — "Work  and  win," 
And  keeps  thy  soul  from  sloth  and  sin  : 

If  thou  canst  plan  a  noble  deed, 

And  never  flag  till  it  succeed. 

Though  in  the  strife  thy  heart  should  bleed  : 


YOUNG   GENIUS.  73 

If  thou  canst  struggle  day  and  night, 
And  in  the  envious  world's  despite, 
Still  keep  thy  cynosure  in  sight : 

If  thou  canst  bear  the  rich  man's  scorn, 
Nor  curse  the  day  that  thou  wert  born, 
To  feed  on  husks,  and  he  on  com  : 

If  thou  canst  dine  upon  a  crust, 
And  still  hold  on  with  patient  trust, 
Nor  pine  that  Fortune  is  unjust : 

If  thou  canst  see,  with  tranquil  breast, 
The  knave  or  fool  in  purple  dress'd. 
Whilst  thou  must  walk  in  tatter'd  vest : 

If  thou  canst  rise  ere  break  of  day. 
And  toil  and  moil  till  evening  gray, 
At  thankless  work,  for  scanty  pay  : 

If,  in  thy  progress  to  renown. 

Thou  canst  endure  the  scoff  and  frown 

Of  those  who  strive  to  pull  thee  down  : 

If  thou  canst  bear  the  averted  face. 
The  gibe,  or  treacherous  embrace. 
Of  those  who  run  the  selfsame  race  : 

If  thou  in  darkest  days  canst  find 
An  inner  brightness  in  thy  mind. 
To  reconcile  thee  to  thy  kind  : — 


74         BALLADS  AND  LYKICAL  POEMS. 

Whatever  obstacles  control, 

Thine  hour  will  come — go  on,  true  soul  1 

Thou'lt  win  the  prize,  thou'lt  reach  the  goal. 

If  not — ^what  matters  ?  tried  by  fire, 

And  purified  from  low  desire, 

Thy  spirit  shall  but  soar  the  higher. 

Content  and  hope  thy  heart  shall  buoy. 
And  men's  neglect  shall  ne'er  destroy 
Thy  secret  peace,  thy  inward  joy  ; 

And  when  thou  sittest  on  the  height, 
Thy  song  shall  be  its  own  delight, 
And  cheer  thee  in  the  world's  despite. 


75 


THE  VISION  OF  DANTON. 

The  H6tel  de  Ville  and  the  Place  de  Grfeve  of  Paris  are  cele- 
brated as  having  been  the  scene  of  most  of  the  late  and  preceding 
Eevolutions.  The  pavement  of  the  Gr^ve  has  been  stained  with 
the  blood  of  the  victims  of  all  the  Revolutions,  and  with  that  of 
criminals  executed  by  the  hand  of  justice,  till  within  the  last 
few  years.  This  fabulous  dream  of  Danton,  in  the  chambers  of 
this  historical  mansion, — the  very  Palace  of  Revolution, — was 
written  in  October,  1847,  in  anticipation  of  the  Revolution  which 
broke  out  in  February,  1848. 


Weary  of  strife  renew'd  from  day  to  day, 
Th'  inveterate  war  of  parties  brought  to  bay. 
With  clash  of  hatreds  jarring  on  his  sense, 
And  poison  d  darts  of  hostile  eloquence, 
With  all  the  excitement  of  the  brain  and  heart, 
That  forms  the  life  of  men,  who  play  their  part 
In  mighty  dramas, — Danton  lay  at  rest, 
Ilis  face  to  Heaven,  his  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  said  within  himself, — "It  must  not  be — 
Surely  this  grief  shall  end,  and  France  be  free." 

II. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  and  saw  a  vision  pass 
Clear  as  a  show  in  a  magician's  glass ; 
He  saw  a  figure,  massive  like  his  own, 
Headless  and  quivering,  from  a  scaffold  thrown; 


76  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

He  saw  the  pavement  running  red  with  blood, 

And  crowds  insatiate  dabbling  in  the  flood. 

He  saw  Despair  at  every  threshold  stand 

And  ruffian  Terror  stalking  o'er  the  land, 

And  sigh'd  remorseful — "  Mine  the  guilt,"  said  he, 

"But  surely  it  shall  pass,  and  France  be  free." 


Ill, 

The  vision  changed  :  he  saw  the  embattled  world, 
And  France  defiant  with  her  flag  unfurl'd  : 
He  heard  her  trumpets  peal ;  her  cannons  roar ; 
Her  captains  shout  and  wave  her  tricolor. 
He  saw  their  leader  fattening  the  sod 
With  bones  of  myriads  ;  heard  the  cry  to  God 
Eaised  by  the  ravaged  lands ;  he  heard  and  saw 
That  Might  was  murder,  and  that  Force  was  law; 
And  sigh'd  for  pity — "  Heaven  is  just,"  said  he, 
"And  this  new  plague  shall  pass,  and  France  be  free." 

IV. 

The  vision  darken'd  :  Paris  the  superb, 

The  beautiful,  impatient  of  a  curb, 

Received  the  law  from  strangers  at  her  gate. 

And  gave  for  insults  nothing  but  her  hate. 

She  who  with  trumpet-voice  had  roused  the  lands. 

Felt  on  her  prostrate  neck  the  Cossack's  hands ; 

Heard  in  her  panting  streets  the  invader's  drum. 

And  groan'd  for  worse  indignities  to  come  : 

And  e'en  in  slumber  Danton  blush'd  to  see — 

"  Surely  this  shame  shall  pass,  and  France  be  free  I' 


THE  VISION   OF  DANTON. 


V. 


It  changed  again  :  and  lo !  a  royal  drone, 
Untaught  by  suffering,  dozed  upon  the  throne; 
Or  waking,  fancied  that  his  hands  could  bind 
The  tide  of  Thought,  the  Keason  of  mankind. 
Another  follow'd  bigoted,  but  strong, 
Who,  deeming  Time  had  gone  a  century  wrong, 
Strove  with  a  desperate  force  to  turn  the  hand, 
And  bring  the  darkness  back  upon  the  land ; 
And  Danton  groan'd — "Oh,  that  these  eyes  might  see 
This  folly  brought  to  shame,  and  France  made  free." 

vr. 

The  vision  brighten'd  :  Paris  as  of  old 
Aroused  her  faubourgs  as  the  tocsin  toll'd ; 
Placed  in  each  hand  a  weapon  for  the  Kight, 
And  fought  its  battle  in  the  world's  despite ; 
Dragg'd  the  degraded  purple  through  the  town, 
E-oll'd  in  the  dust  the  sceptre  and  the  crown  ; 
And  read  the  nations  listening  far  and  near 
A  mighty  lesson  full  of  hope  and  fear ; 
And  Danton  shouted  in  his  sleep  to  see — 
"Now  has  the  sorrow  pass'd,  and  France  is  free." 


ni. 

Another  change  and  shifting  of  the  parts — 
The  fool  was  foil'd — the  knave  essay 'd  his  arts ; 
He  hated  Freedom  and  her  priests  and  scribes. 
And  swore  to  crush  her,  not  with  force,  but  bribes. 


78  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

The  ignoble  plan  succeeded  for  a  while — 

The  halcyon  days  of  Mammon  and  of  guile ; 

The  dense  corruption  spread  from  high  to  low, 

Till  virtue  perish'd  in  its  overflow; 

And  Danton  groan'd — "  Oh,  worst  of  infamy  1 

When  shall  this  sorrow  pass,  and  France  be  freeT' 

VIII. 

What  more  he  saw  was  dim  before  his  eyes. 
Shapes  undefined  and  huge  unsymmetries — 
Darkness  and  storm  and  thunder-clouds  afar, 
And  forms  gigantic  panoplied  for  war; 
But  still  a  radiance  glimmer  d  through  the  cloud, — 
And  a  voice  seem'd  to  speak  to  him  aloud  : — 
"Not  all  in  vain  the  struggles  thou  hast  seen, 
Truth  bides  her  time  and  keeps  her  brow  serene  : 
Each  seed  she  scatters  bears  its  destined  tree — 
The  grief  shall  pass,  and  France  shall  yet  be  free." 


79 


GOOD-NIGHT. 


Hush,  Nature  !  let  no  jarring  sound 

The  drowsy  air  encumber, 
While  she,  the  fairest  of  thy  works, 

Is  sinking  into  slumber. 
Be  silent,  earth !  ye  winds,  be  still — 

Let  nought  from  sleep  alarm  her; 
"Nor  midnight  storm,  nor  sudden  fire, 

Nor  prowling  robber  harm  her. 


II. 

Good-night !  and  be  her  pleasant  rest 

Unbroken  till  the  morrow ; 
May  all  her  visions,  like  herself, 

Be  sweet,  and  void  of  sorrow. 
Good-night  1  and  o'er  her  silent  couch 

While  darkness  spreads  her  cover, 
May  guardian  angels  watch  and  pray, 

And  bless  her  as  they  hover. 


80  BALLADS  AND  LYEICAL  POEMS. 

GOOD-MORROW. 
[Music  by  Frank  Mori.] 

I. 

Shine  briglitly  througli  her  casement,  sun ; 

Thou  gale,  soft  odours  bring  her; 
Ye  birds  that  hail  the  dawning  day, 

Your  sweetest  music  sing  her ; 
Smile,  Nature,  on  her,  as  she  wakes, 

And  hide  all  sights  of  sorrow ; 
And  have  no  sounds  but  those  of  joy 

To  bid  my  love — good-morrow ! 

II. 

Good -morrow  to  those  lustrous  eyes. 

With  bright  good-humour  beaming; 
Good-morrow  to  those  ruddy  lips. 

Where  smiles  are  ever  teeming. 
Good-morrow  to  that  happy  face, 

XJndimm'd  by  cloud  of  sorrow. 
Good-morrow,  heart  that  clings  to  mine — 

Good-morrow,  love,  good-morrow  ! 


81 


A  SONG,  AFTER  A  TOAST. 

I. 

If  lie  to  whom  this  toast  we  drink 

Has  brought  the  needy  to  his  door, 
Or  raised  the  wretch  from  ruin's  brink 

From  the  abundance  of  his  store  : 
If  he  has  sooth'd  the  mourner  s  woe, 

Or  help'd  young  merit  into  fame, 
This  night  our  cups  shall  overflow 

In  honour  of  his  name. 

II. 

If  he  be  poor,  and  yet  has  striven 

To  ease  the  load  of  human  care ; 
If  to  the  famish'd  he  has  given 

One  loaf  that  it  was  hard  to  spare  ; 
If  in  his  poverty  erect. 

He  never  did  one  deed  of  shame, 
Fill  high  !  we'll  drain  in  deep  respect 

A  bumper  to  his  name. 

III. 
But  rich  or  poor — if  still  his  plan 

Has  been  to  play  an  honest  part, 
If  he  ne'er  fail'd  his  word  to  man. 

Or  broke  a  trusting  woman's  heart ; 
If  Emulation  fire  his  soul 

To  snatch  the  meed  of  virtuous  fame, 
Fill  high  !  we'll  drain  a  flowing  bowl 

In  honour  of  his  name. 
Q 


82  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 


MY  PLAYFELLOW. 


What  though  youVe  only  ^ye  years  old, 

A  little  roguish,  romping  fairy, 
And  I'm  a  man  of  care  and  toil — 

We're  comrades  true,  my  little  Mary  ! 
We're  friends  and  playmates,  close  and  fond, 

And  heedless  of  the  wind  or  weather  ; 
Out-doors  or  in,  'tis  all  the  same. 

We  leap,  and  laugh,  and  run  together. 


IL 

We  love  to  sit  upon  the  grass 

In  summer  days,  in  shady  valleys, 
Or  play  at  merry  "  hide  and  seek " 

Behind  the  trees  in  garden  alleys. 
And  don't  we  wander  forth  alone. 

To  gather  crops  of  meadow  daisies  ? 
Or  hunt  the  noisy  grasshopper 

In  all  his  green  and  secret  places  ? 


HI. 

And  don't  we  catch  the  butterfly, 
With  mealy  pinions,  sailing  lightly  ? 

And  don't  you,  when  I  let  him  free. 
Gravely  decide,  I  acted  rightly  i 


MY   PLAYFELLOW.  83 

And  don't  we  teach  the  dog  to  beg, 
And  little  puss  to  frisk  and  caper  1 

And  don't  I  paint  yoa  birds  and  fish, 
And  cut  you  purses  out  of  paper  ? 

IV. 

And  don't  we  spin  our  humming-top 

Together  on  the  parlour  table  1 
And  don't  your  father  call  me  fool, 

And  smile  to  utter  such  a  fable  ? 
And  don't  I  tell  you  fairy  tales, 

At  intercession  of  your  mother  1 
And  don't  you  kiss  me  when  I've  done, 

And  ask  me  to  beo:in  another  ? 


And  don't  you  oft,  with  hands  outstretch'd, 

And  eyes  that  shine  like  sun-lit  fountains, 
Protest  you  love  me  "  big  as  trees," 

"  Big  as  the  world — and  all  its  mountains'?" 
And  don't  you  sometimes  fall  asleep, 

Lock'd  in  my  arms,  quite  worn  and  weary  ? 
And  don't  I  carry  you  to  bed, 

Too  drowsy  for  your  prayers,  my  deary  1 

VL 

Oh,  yes  !  we're  friends  and  comrades  true, 
There's  not  a  bit  of  guile  about  you  ; 

You  shed  such  light  around  your  path, 
I'd  think  the  world  was  dark  without  you, 
o  2 


84  BALLADS   AND    LYEICAL   POEMS. 

And  if  to  fourscore  years  I  live, 
However  Time  and  Fate  may  vary, 

I'll  wish  no  better  friend  than  you, 
My  little  laughing,  romping  Mary. 


LOVE  IN  HATE. 


Once  I  thought  I  could  adore  him, 
Rich  or  poor,  beloved  the  same  ; 

Now  I  hate  him  and  abhor  him, 
Now  I  loathe  his  very  name  ; 

Spum'd  at  when  I  sued  for  pity, 
Kobb'd  of  peace  and  virgin  fame 


IL 

If  my  hatred  could  consume  him. 
Soul  and  body,  heart  and  brain  ; 

If  my  will  had  power  to  doom  him 
To  eternity  of  pain ; 

I  would  strike — and  die,  confessing 
That  I  had  not  lived  in  vain. 


LOVE   IN   HATE.  85 


III. 


Oh,  if  in  my  bosom  lying, 

I  could  work  him  deadly  scathe  1 
Oh,  if  I  could  clasp  him,  dying. 

And  receive  his  parting  breath — 
In  one  burst  of  burning  passion 

I  would  kiss  him  into  death ! 


IV. 

I  would  cover  with  embraces 
Lips  that  once  his  love  confess'd, 

And  that  falsest  of  false  faces. 
Mad,  enraptured,  unrepress'd ; 

Then  in  agony  of  pity 

I  would  die  upon  his  breast. 


so  BALLADS   AND    LYRICAL   POEMS. 


LADY  JANE. 


Oh,  Lady  Jane,  dear  Lady  Jane, 

Those  beautiful  and  earnest  eyes 
Have  shot  their  beams  through  many  a  brain, 

And  prompted  many  a  world  of  sighs. 
No  wonder  ! — stony-hard  and  cold 

Were  he,  who  gazing  on  their  light — 
Ay,  were  he  eighty  winters  old — 

Felt  no  pulsation  of  delight. 


But  tell  us,  dearest  Lady  Jane, 

What  secret  witchery  and  spell 
Hasb  thou  to  rule  the  hearts  of  men, 

That  not  the  hardest  can  rebel  ? 
The  hearts  of  men  1     Not  theirs  alone  ; 

For  women  do  not  love  thee  less? 
Thou  hast  some  secret  of  thine  own, 

Thou  saucy  little  sorceress ! 

ni. 

The  blind  old  beggar  on  the  road. 
Fed  by  thy  bounty,  loves  thee  more 

For  gentle  sympathy  bestow'd. 

Than  for  the  tribute  from  thy  store. 


LADY   JANE.  87 

The  peevish  beldame,  sour'd  by  want, 
And  teased  by  urchins  far  and  near, 

Selects  thee  for  her  confidant. 

And  breathes  her  sorrows  in  thine  ear. 


The  kittens  on  the  hearth  prefer 

Thy  soft  caress,  than  ours  more  sweet ; 
And  jealous  hound,  and  snarling  cur, 

Frolic  with  pleasure  at  thy  feet. 
The  parrot  swinging  to  and  fro, 

That  sulks  at  others,  talks  to  thee  ; 
And  tearful  babes  forget  their  woe. 

And  cuddle,  happy,  round  thy  knee. 


In  fa<5t,  there's  something,  lady  dear. 

In  thee,  and  on  thee,  and  about — 
A  power — a  charm — an  atmosphere — 

A  fascination  in  and  out. 
That  makes  all  creatures,  high  and  low, 

Love  thee  and  trust  thee.     Tell  us,  then, 
The  reason  why  we  love  thee  so — 

Thou  little  fairy.  Lady  Jane  ! 

VI. 

What  can  it  be  1  for  I  confess 
I  know  of  beauty  great  as  thine ; 

Yet  if  it  be  not  loveliness, 

'Tis  something  in  thee  more  divine. 


SS  BALLADS   AND  LYRICAL   POEMS. 

'Tis  not  thy  wit,  or  eloquence, 

And  thou  hast  both  in  ample  store  ; 

'Tis  not  thy  birth,  or  wealth,  or  sense, 
That  makes  us  captive  evermore. 


VII. 

What  is  it  then  ?     Thou  canst  not  say — 

Then  let  me  tell  thee.  Lady  Jane  : 
'Tis  bright  good-humour,  warm  as  day ; 

'Tis  sympathy  for  others'  pain  ; 
'Tis  heart,  and  mind,  and  patience  rich  ; 

'Tis  loving  kindness,  failing  never  ; 
These  are  thy  spells,  thou  potent  witch  : 

We  can't  resist — we're  thine  for  ever  ! 


89 


THE  PRAISE  OF  WOMEN. 

"  My  curse  on  those  of  women  ill  who  speke — 
I  praye  to  God  that  their  neckys  doe  breke." 
Chaucer. 

Woman  may  err — Woman  may  give  her  mind 

To  evil  thoughts,  and  lose  her  pure  estate ; 
But  for  one  woman  who  affronts  her  kind 

By  wicked  passions  and  remorseless  hate, 
A  thousand  make  amends  in  age  and  youth, 

By  heavenly  Pity,  by  sweet  Sympathy, 
By  patient  Kindness,  by  enduring  Truth, 

By  Love,  supremest  in  adversity. 
Theirs  is  the  task  to  succour  the  distress'd. 

To  feed  the  hungry,  to  console  the  sad. 
To  pour  the  balm  upon  the  wounded  breast, 

And  find  dear  Pity,  even  for  the  bad. 
Blessings  on  Women  !     In  the  darkest  day 

Their  love  shines  brightest ;  in  the  perilous  hour 
Their  weak  hands  glow  with  strength  our  feuds  to  stay. 

Blessings  upon  them !  and  if  Man  would  show'r 
His  condemnation  on  the  few  that  err, 

Let  him  be  calm,  and  cease  his  soul  to  vex  j 
Think  of  his  mother,  and  for  sake  of  her 

Forgive  them  all,  and  bless  their  gentler  sex. 


90  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 


SERENITY. 

Standing  alone,  in  vale  or  mountain -top, 

Upon  the  grassy  plain  or  ocean  shore, 

Or  far  away  upon  a  ship  at  sea, 

We  are  the  middle  of  the  Universe. 

Around  us  as  a  centre.  Earth  and  Heaven 

Describe  their  mystic  circles  evermore. 

We  move;  and  all  the  radii  shape  themselves 

To  the  one  point  and  focus  of  our  eyes. 

But  in  our  mental  life  we  disobey 

The  law  of  circles:  on  the  outer  verge 

We  stand  for  ever,  sometimes  looking  down 

Upon  extraneous  evil  far  removed 

Beyond  the  bound  of  Fate's  circumference, 

Adown  dark  tangents  infinitely  stretch'd 

Through  gloomy  Chaos,  troubled  by  Despair. 

At  other  times  we  seek  the  sunniest  verge, 

The  amber  and  the  purple  blooms  of  Heaven, 

And  strive  with  yearning  eyes,  made  dim  by  tears, 

To  pierce  the  secrets  of  a  happier  state. 

Exulting  are  we  now, — and  now  forlorn. 

Lord,  grant  us  wisdom  !  grant  that  we  may  stand 

In  the  fair  middle  of  the  spiritual  world, 

Undarken'd  by  the  glooms  of  utter  night, 

Undazzled  by  the  noontide  glow  of  day. 

True  wisdom  and  serenity  of  soul 

Dwell  in  the  centre,  and  avoid  extx'emes. 


91 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  HOUSE. 


I  HAVE  a  wondrous  house  to  build, 

A  dwelling,  humble  yet  divine ; 
A  lowly  cottage  to  be  liird 

With  all  the  jewels  of  the  mine. 
How  shall  I  build  it  strong  and  fairl 
This  noble  house,  this  lodging  rare, 

So  small  and  modest,  yet  so  great  ? 
How  shall  I  fill  its  chambers  bare 

With  use — with  ornament — with  stated 

II. 
My  God  hath  given  the  stone  and  clay ; 

'Tis  I  must  fashion  them  aright ; 
'Tis  I  must  mould  them  day  by  day, 

And  make  my  labour  my  delight  ; 
This  cot,  this  palace,  this  fair  home, 
This  pleasure-house,  this  holy  dome, 

Must  be  in  all  proportions  fit. 
That  heavenly  messengers  may  come 

To  lodge  with  him  who  tenants  it. 

XII. 
No  fairy  bower  this  house  must  be. 

To  totter  at  each  gale  that  starts, 
But  oi  substantial  masonry. 

Symmetrical  in  all  its  parts ; 


92  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

Fit  in  its  strength  to  stand  sublime, 
For  seventy  years  of  mortal  time, 

Defiant  of  the  storm  and  rain, 
And  well  attemper'd  to  the  clime 

In  every  cranny,  nook,  and  pane. 


I'll  build  it  so,  that  if  the  blast 

Around  it  whistle  loud  and  long, 
The  tempest  when  its  rage  has  pass'd 

Shall  leave  its  rafters  doubly  strong. 
Ill  build  it  so  that  travellers  by 
Shall  view  it  with  admiring  eye, 

For  its  commodiousness  and  grace: 
Firm  on  the  ground — straight  to  the  sky- 

A  meek,  but  goodly  dwelling-place. 


Thus  noble  in  its  outward  form, 

Within  I'll  build  it  clean  and  white  ; 
Not  cheerless  cold,  but  happy  warm, 

And  ever  open  to  the  light. 
No  tortuous  passages  or  stair, 
No  chamber  foul,  or  dungeon  lair. 

No  gloomy  attic  shall  there  be. 
But  wide  apartments  order'd  fair 

And  redolent  of  purity. 


THE   BUILDING   OF  THE   HOUSE.  93 


VI. 

With  three  com  part  meuts  furnish'd  well, 

The  house  shall  be  a  home  complete ; 
Wherein,  should  circumstance  rebel. 

The  humble  tenant  may  retreat. 
The  first  a  room  wherein  to  deal 
With  men  for  human  nature's  weal, 

A  room  where  he  may  work  or  play, 
And  all  his  social  life  reveal 

In  its  pure  texture  day  by  day. 


VII. 

The  second,  for  his  wisdom  sought. 

Where,  with  his  chosen  book  or  friend, 
He  may  employ  his  active  thought 

To  virtuous  and  exalted  end. 
A  chamber  lofty  and  serene, 
With  a  door-window  to  the  green 

Smooth-shaven  sward,  and  arching  bowers, 
Where  lore  or  talk  or  song  between. 

May  gild  his  intellectual  hours. 


VIII. 

The  third  an  oratory  dim. 

But  beautiful,  where  he  may  raise, 
Unheard  of  men,  his  daily  hymn, 

Of  love  and  gratitude  and  praise. 


94  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS 

Where  he  may  revel  in  the  light 
Of  things  unseen  and  infinite, 

And  learn  how  little  he  may  be, 
And  yet  how  awful  in  thy  sight. 

Ineffable  Eternity! 


IX. 

Such  is  the  house  that  I  must  build— 

This  is  the  cottage — this  the  dome,- 
And  this  the  palace,  treasure-fill'd 

For  an  immortal's  earthly  home. 
Oh  noble  work  of  toil  and  care  ! 
Oh  task  most  difficult  and  rare! 

Oh  simple  but  most  arduous  plan  ! 
To  raise  a  dwelling-place  so  fair, — 

The  sanctuary  of  a  Man. 


95 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  PAIR  OF  EYES. 


"You? — tell  the  history  of  mine  eyes? 

Well — some  men's  fancies  are  unruly  ! 
'T would  take  three  volumes  at  the  least — 

Ay — ^twenty, — if  you  told  it  truly." 
"  No  matter :  let  me  try  the  task, 

Though  possibly  my  heart  may  rue  it, 
If,  gazing  on  their  light  meanwhile, 

I  strive  to  render  justice  to  it. 

II. 

"  One  mom — 'twas  twenty  Mays  ago^ — 

The  meadows  gleam'd  with  ilowery  whiteness, 
When  on  the  world  those  eyelids  oped, 

And  showed  their  inner  orbs  of  brightness  ; 
Two  little  gem-like  spheres  they  were, 

That  knew  no  change  of  day  or  morrow ; 
Yet  shone  'mid  tears,  as  if  to  prove 

The  joy  that  had  been  born  in  sorrow. 

III. 

*^Ere  May  a  second  time  retum'd, 

Those  little  worlds  were  worlds  of  graces  j 

They  look'd  upon  the  earth  and  sky 
And  knew  the  light  of  loving  faces. 


96  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

They  wept — they  glitter'd — wept  again — 
And  friends  from  strangers  could  remember, 

And  garner'd  smiles  beneath  their  lids, 
To  dart  like  meteors  of  November. 


IV. 

"Seven  springs  and  summers  cheer'd  the  earth- 
Seven  winters  howl'd  with  stormy  bluster, 

And  every  season  as  it  pass'd, 

Left  on  those  eyes  increasing  lustre. 

They  glow'd  with  many  a  baby-joy. 

Suffused  with  tears  of  childlike  gladness. 

And  sparkled  with  affection  pure — 

With  hope,  and  sympathy,  and  sadness. 

V. 

"  Ten  years :  and  then  on  Nature's  face. 

Their  long  and  silken  lashes  under. 
At  sunlight,  starlight,  or  the  moon. 

They  gazed  with  pleasure  or  with  wonder. 
They  loved  all  lovely  things  of  earth — 

They  beam'd  with  every  sweet  emotion — 
Turn'd  to  the  ground  with  modest  grace, 

Or  look'd  to  Heaven  with  young  devotion. 

VI. 

"But  sixteen  seasons  wrought  a  change — 
They  learn'd  a  secret — by  this  token  : — 

That  they  could  read  in  others'  eyes 
The  admiration  never  spoken. 


THE   HISTORY   OF  A   PAIR  OF   EYES.  97 

They  learn'd  what  tell-tale  mirrors  show'd — 
That  whosoe'er  might  flout  their  bearer, 

There  might  be  maids  as  fair,  perchance, 
But  not  a  living  maiden  fairer. 

VII. 

"  The  knowledge  brought  its  natural  fruit, 

But  being  link'd  with  gentle  feeling ; 
With  sense,  and  modesty,  and  truth. 

And  virtue,  past  my  wit's  revealing; 
Men's  hearts  were  overthrown  at  once, 

And  through  the  world,  you  bright  enslaver, 
You  walk'd — a  thing  of  life  and  light — 

On  whom  to  look  was  joy  and  favour. 

vin. 

"  The  hearts  you  wounded,  who  shall  count  1 

Talk  of  three  volumes  of  romances ! 
A  hundred  could  not  chronicle 

The  hurts,  fatalities,  mischances! 
I  cannot  tell  such  endless  tales 

Half  through,  or  quarter ;  who  could  read  'em  ? 
Then,  oh,  be  spiteful — heartless — vain — 

And  leave,  oh,  leave  us  to  our  freedom! 

iz. 

"But  while,  as  now,  you  win  our  hearts 
By  sense  and  virtue,  wit  and  kindness. 

We  gaze — we  doat — we  kneel — we  pray — 
The  wisest  worst,  for  utter  blindness. 
H 


98  BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL   POEMS. 

"Take  pity,  Clara, — make  your  choice — 
The  story  of  your  eyes  I've  told  you ; 

The  sooner  wed,  the  better  fate 

For  those  who  hope  as  they  behold  you." 


So  sang  a  knight  of  olden  time ; 

The  eyes  he  praised,  with  pleasure  shining; 
And  Clara  tripping  from  the  porch, 

Unloosed  his  arms  around  her  twining. 
"  I've  made  my  choice,  for  love  is  blind, 

And  it  has  proved  my  wit's  undoing; 
So  fix  the  day,  you  foolish  knight — 

I'll  marry  you,  and  stop  your  wooing  !" 


99 


NINETTE. 


Thou  borrowest  from  that  heaven  of  blue, 

Oh,  maiden  dear ! 
The  depth  of  that  cerulean  hue 

In  which  thine  eyes  appear. 

"Within  their  orbs  the  sunshine  lies 

Without  eclipse  ; 
And  smiles,  like  meteors  of  the  skies, 

Run  races  on  thy  lips. 

Thou  borrowest  from  the  rising  morn 

The  colour  fair. 
In  which,  thy  temples  to  adorn, 

Streams  thy  overflowing  hair ; — 

And  from  the  summer  evening's  glow. 

On  Alpine  peaks, 
The  mingling  roses  strewn  on  snow 

That  decorate  thy  cheeks. 

Thou  borrowest  from  all  Nature's  store 

Some  charm  or  grace  ; 
And  hill  and  plain, — the  sea  and  shore, — 

Yield  tribute  to  thy  face. 
H  2 


100  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

II. 

Pay,  pay  them  back  with  usury, 

Oh,  maiden  dear ! 
With  heaven-blue  eyes  look  piously 

On  Heaven's  o'erarching  sphere. 

Nature  has  lent  thee  smiles  of  light, — 

Repay  in  kind. 
With  fair  Contentment  ever  bright, 

And  sunshine  of  the  mind. 

If  she  have  lent  thy  cheeks  a  hue, — 

The  fairest  wrought, — 
Oh,  pay  her  back  with  feeling  true. 

With  love,  and  happy  thought. 

For  every  gift,  a  gift  impart; 

For  face  and  form. 
Give  her  a  soul  serene, — a  heart 

Pure,  sympathetic,  warm. 

So  shall  thy  debt  be  overpaid 

With  tribute  free ; 
And  Man,  and  Nature, — happy  maid  ! 

Be  both  in  debt  to  thee. 


101 


THE  QUARKEL. 


"  Hush,  Joanna  !  'tis  quite  certain 
That  the  coffee  was  not  strong; 

Own  your  error,  I'll  forgive  you, — 
Why  so  stubborn  in  the  wrong?" 

II. 

"You'll  forgive  me  !  Sir,  I  hate  you ! 

You  have  used  me  like  a  churl; 
Have  my  senses  ceased  to  guide  me  1 

Do  you  think  I  am  a  girl  1 " 

IIL 

"  Oh,  no  !  you're  a  girl  no  longer, 
But  a  woman  form'd  to  please ; 

And  it's  time  you  should  abandon 
Childish  follies  such  as  these." 

IV. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  you !  but  why  vex  me  ? 

If  I'm  old,  you're  older  still; 
I'll  no  longer  be  your  victim, 

And  the  creature  of  your  will.** 


<IQ2  .  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 


"  But,  Joanna,  why  this  pother  ? 

It  might  happen  I  was  wrong ; 
But,  if  common  sense  inspire  me — 

Still,  that  coffee  was  not  strong." 

VI. 

"  Common  sense !  you  never  had  it ; 

Oh,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! 
To  be  wedded  to  a  monster 

Who  repays  my  love  with  tcorn." 

VIL 

"  Well,  Joanna,  we'll  not  quarrel ; 

What 's  the  use  of  bitter  strife  1 
But  I'm  sorry  I  am  married, — 

I  was  mad  to  take  a  wife." 

VIII. 

"  Mad,  indeed  !  I'm  glad  you  know  it ; 

But,  if  law  can  break  the  chain, 
I'll  be  tied  to  you  no  longer 

In  this  misery  and  pain.'* 

IX. 

"  Hush,  Joanna !  shall  the  servants 
Hear  you  argue  ever  vnrong'? 

Can  you  not  have  done  with  folly  ? — 
Own  the  coffee  was  not  strong." 


THE   QUARREL. 


103 


"  Oh  !  you  goad  me  past  endurance, 
Trifling  with  my  woman's  heart  ! 

But  I  loathe  you,  and  detest  you, — 
Villain  !  monster  !  let  us  part  ! " 


XL 


Long  this  foolish  quarrel  lasted. 
Till  Joanna,  half  afraid 

That  her  empire  was  in  peril, 
Summon'd  never-failing  aid  j — 


XIL 


Summon'd  tears,  in  copious  torrents, — 
Tears,  and  sobs,  and  piteous  sighs ; 

Well  she  knew  the  potent  practice, 
The  artillery  of  the  eyes. 


XIIL 


And  it  chanced  as  she  imagined,- 
Beautiful  in  grief  was  she, — 

Beautiful  to  best  advantage, 
And  a  tender  heart  had  he. 


XIV. 


Kneeling  at  her  side,  he  soothed  her, 
"  Dear  Joanna  !  I  was  wrong ; 

Nevermore  I'll  contradict  you, — 
But,  oh  make  my  coffee  strong  ! " 


104:  BALLADS  AUD  LYRICAL  POEMS. 


THE  BRIDGE. 

Upon  the  solitary  bridge  the  light 
Shone  dim ;  the  wind  swept  howling  on  its  way, 
And  tower  and  spire  stood  hidden  in  the  gray 
Half-darkness  of  the  raw  and  rainy  night. 
When  one  still  young  and  fair,  with  eyes  mad-bright, 
Paced  up  and  down,  and  with  a  look  of  woe, 
Gazed  on  the  waters  gliding  black  below. 
Or  the  dull  houses  looming  on  her  sight, — 
And  said  within  herself, — "Can  I  endure 
Longer  this  weight  of  misery  and  scorn  ? 
Ah,  no  !  Love-blighted — sick  at  heart — and  poor; — 
Deceived — undone — and  utterly  forlorn  ! 
Why  should  I  live? — forgive  me,  Lord!"  she  cried, 
Sprang  sudden  to    the  brink,  dash'd  headlong  down 
— and  died  ! 


105 


THE  TWO  NIGHTINGALES. 

AN  APOLOGUE  FOR  POETS. 

In  the  deep  quiet  of  an  ancient  wood, 
Two  nightingales,  that  since  the  sun  had  set 
Had  fill'd  the  enraptured  solitude  with  song, 
Sat  silent  for  awhile,  and  thus  began, 
One  with  the  other,  interchange  of  thoughts. 

"  I'm  weary,"  said  the  one  with  weakest  voice, 
"  Of  singing  all  night  long  to  these  dull  boughs. 
With  none  to  listen  to  my  heaveuly  notes. 
What  are  to  me  these  green  insensate  woods. 
Yon  moon  and  stars,  and  the  unheeding  sky? 
I  would  have  lovers  wander  in  the  shade 
At  twilight  hour,  to  listen  to  my  voice 
And  call  it  beautiful.     I  would  have  youths. 
Teeming  with  gentle  fancies,  quit  their  books, 
And  bend  a  willing  ear  to  my  sweet  strains  : 
I  would  have  sages  hearken  to  my  lay. 
And  own  me  poet  of  the  pensive  night. 
Why  should  I  waste  my  music  on  the  winds, 
Or  how  sing  on,  abandoned  to  neglect  ? 
I  will  away,  and  force  the  callous  crowd 
To  be  delighted.     Through  some  city  vast 
My  voice  shall  sound,  till  busy  men  shall  stop, 
And  to  my  floods  of  swelling  melody 
Give  ear  enraptured.     Brother,  come  away  l" 


106  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

"  No,"  said  the  other — "  I  am  happy  here ; 
To  me  all  needless  is  the  world's  applause. 
Amid  these  oaks,  surrounded  by  these  hills, 
Lull'd  by  the  dash  of  waters  down  the  rocks, 
Look'd  on  by  moon  and  stars,  leave  me  to  sing. 
My  breast  is  full — my  song  an  utterance 
Of  joy,  that  gives  me  joy  to  breathe  it  forth ; 
My  song  its  own  reward. — AVhy  should  I  court 
The  ear  of  men,  or  pine  in  useless  grief 
That  hither  comes  no  audience  for  my  lays  ? 
Mine  is  a  hymn  of  Gratitude  and  Love, 
An  overflowing  from  my  inmost  heart ; 
And  if  men  listen  and  are  pleased,  not  less 
My  pleasure  in  administering  to  theirs. 
But  if  none  care  to  hear  my  melodies, 
Not  the  less  happy  would  I  be  to  sing." 

"  Thou  poor  in  spirit !"  said  the  first ;  "  Not  mine 
This  dull  contentment,  this  ignoble  peace, — 
To  which  I  leave  thee.     On  adventurous  wing 
I  take  my  flight  to  the  abodes  of  men, 
And  they  shall  honour  and  exalt  my  name: — 
So  fare  thee  well  !"  and  as  he  said,  he  flew 
From  his  companion,  scorning  his  low  mind  ; 
And  ere  the  morning  reach' d,  on  pinions  free, 
A  vast,  smoke-mantled,  dim  metropolis, 
With  domes  and  columns,  spires  and  monuments, 
And  multitudinous  chimneys  tall  as  these. 
Towering  towards  the  ever  hazy  sky  ; 
And  here  alighting  on  a  house-top,  sat. 
And  look'd  about  him.     Far  on  every  side 


^^tretch'd  th 


THE  TWO   NIGHTINGALES.  107 


Stretch'd  the  long  line  of  streets  and  thoroughfares, 

Trod  by  a  busy  and  impatient  mass ; 

Church-bells  rang  heavily  on  the  morning  air, 

And  chariots  rattled  o'er  the  dusty  stones. 

Loud  was  the  roaring  of  the  multitude, 

Loud  was  the  clink  of  hammers  on  the  ear, 

And  loud  the  whirling  of  incessant  wheels, 

Pistons  and  pumps,  revolving  cylinders, 

And  ever-hissing  steam  in  factories  vast. 

But  nothing  daunted  by  the  hubbub  round, 

And  conscious  of  some  utterance  in  himself. 

The  ambitious  nightingale  began  his  song. 

'Twas  a  forced  effort  in  the  eye  of  Day, 

For  bird  like  him,  by  Night  alone  inspired ; 

But  still  he  sang,  and  on  the  smoky  air 

Ponr'd  a  full  stream  of  no  mean  music  forth. 

Till  sunny  noon,  till  lamplit  eve,  he  sang. 

But  no  one  listen'd  :  all  men  were  absorb'd 

In  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  or  of  gain, 

And  had  no  time  for  melodies  like  his. 

Weary  at  heart  the  nightingale  became, 

And  disappointment  rankled  into  hate: — 

"Alas  I"  said  he,  "the  age  of  song  is  past! 

I'm  born  too  late  ! — Merit  has  no  reward  ; — 

The  cold,  unfeeling,  and  most  grovelling  Crowd 

Forsakes  dear  Poesy  for  love  of  wealth, 

And  all  forlorn  and  desolate  am  I." 

So  saying,  he  outstretched  his  wings,  and  fled 
Back  to  his  solitude,  and  sang  no  more  ; 
And  living  voiceless — angry  with  himself, 


108  BALLADS   AND   LYRICAL   POEMS. 

And  with  the  world — he  died  before  his  time, 
And  left  no  mourner  to  lament  his  fate. 

The  other  nightingale,  more  wise  than  he, 
With  fuller  voice  and  music  more  di\dne, 
Stay'd  in  the  woods,  and  saug  but  when  inspired 
By  the  sweet  breathing  of  the  midnight  wind — 
By  the  mysterious  twinkling  of  the  stars — 
By  adoration  of  the  Great  Supreme — 
By  Beauty  in  all  hues  and  forms  around — 
By  Love  and  Hope,  and  Gratitude  and  Joy; 
And  thus  inspired,  the  atmosphere  was  rife 
"With  the  prolong'd  sweet  music  that  he  made. 
He  sought  no  listeners — heedless  of  applause — 
But  sang  as  the  stars  shone,  from  inward  light, 
A  blessing  to  himself  and  all  who  heard. 

The  cotter,  wending  weary  to  his  home, 
Linger'd  full  oft  to  listen  to  his  song, 
And  felt  'twas  beautiful,  and  bless'd  the  strain; 
And  lonely  students,  wandering  in  the  woods. 
Loved  nature  more  because  this  bird  had  sung. 


109 


THE  WANDEEERS  BY  THE  SEA. 

ANOTHER  APOLOGUE  FOR  POETS. 

I  SAW  a  crowd  of  people  on  the  shore 

Of  a  deep,  dark  illimitable  sea  ; 

Pale-faced  they  were,  and  turn'd  their  eyes  to  earth, 

And  stoop'd  low  down,  and  gazed  upon  the  sands ; 

And  ever  and  anon  they  roam'd  about, 

Backwards  and  forwards ;  and  whene'er  they  stopp'd 

It  was  to  gather  on  the  weedy  beach 

The  dulse  and  tangles,  or  the  fruitful  shells, 

AVhose  living  tenants  fasten'd  to  the  rocks 

They  pluck*d  away,  and  listlessly  devour'd. 

And  when  they'd  eaten  all  their  fill,  they  sat 
One  by  the  other  on  the  placid  shore. 
And  with  much  labour  and  incessant  care 
Polish'd  the  shells,  until  to  brightest  hues, 
Various  and  intermingling,  they  were  wrought ; 
And  these  they  hung  around  their  necks  and  limbs, 
And  look'd  each  other  in  the  face,  and  smiled. 
This  done,  they  wander'd  on  the  shore  again. 
And  ate  and  ate,  and  drank  and  drank,  and  slept, 
Day  after  day — night  after  night — the  same. 

Meanwhile  the  firmament  was  bright  with  stars 
And  from  the  clouds  aerial  voices  came 
In  tones  of  melody,  now  low,  now  loud ; 
Angelic  forms  were  hovering  around 
In  robes  of  white  and  azure ;  heaven  itself 


110        BALLADS  ANI>  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

Aj)pear'd  to  open  and  invite  the  gaze 
Of  these  poor  stooping  earth-enamour'd  crowds. 
But  they  ne'er  look'd,  nor  heard.  Though  the  deep  sea 
Flash'd  phosphorescent ;  though  dim  8een  afar, 
The  white  Bails  and  the  looming  hulls  of  ships 
Gleam'd  through  the  darkness,  and  the  pregnant  air 
Gave  birth  to  visions  swathed  in  golden  fire — 
They  look'd  not.     Though  the  heavenly  voices  calFd, 
And  told  them  of  the  worhl  of  life  and  light, 
Of  Beauty,  Power,  Love,  Mystery,  and  Joy, 
That  lay  beyond,  and  might  be  seen  of  those. 
However  lowly,  that  would  lift  their  eyes — 
They  heeded  not,  nor  heard  ;  but  wander'd  on, 
Plucking  their  weeds  and  gathering  their  shells. 
And  if  they  heard  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
That  bore  them  tidings  of  tho  Tulinito — 
Tluiy  knew  it  not ;  but  lay  tUvm   idly  down, 
^J'liouglit  of  the  morrow's  food,  uikI  .  .mK    lo  :,loep. 
And  when  they  woke,  with  their  auc.  d*  idcuM  eyes, 
And  pallid  faces,  and  toil-burden'd  ba(  k  ;, 
Began  once  more  their  customary  search 
Upon  the  bare  and  melancholy  sands; 
As  if  that  search  were  all  the  end  of  life, 
And  all  things  else  but  nothingness  and  void, 
liut  'mid  that  low-brow'd  multitude  were  some 

Of   llU-^^vr    r;,rul(ic  ;,    .-.ihI    ImivIm'.mI:;    liiir, 

Ladon   Willi   kii(»wlr.l-('  ;  niid  (.1  «'^'('M  that  beam'd 
Intelligence,  and  quick  desire  to  know ; — 
Who  saw  the  viHionH  tromlng  in  the  air  ; 
Who  heard  the  vo'kus  breathing  in  tho  akyj 
Who  o'er  the  illiniitahlti  wat(UH  wtrotoli'd 
Their  eager  gazo,  and  through  the  gloom  descried 


fSB  WANIMSRSBS  BT  THS  SEA.  1  1  1 

Shadows  of  beautj)  which,  but  half  re^eal^d 
Added  a  wonder  to  their  loveliness; — 
Who  heard  oelesti«d  musio  night  and  mom 
Pla/d  in  the  lap  of  ooean,  or  attxmed 
To  evexy  motion  of  the  ceaseless  wind ; — 
Who  heard  th*  harmonious  cadence  of  the  stan  ; 
W  ho  saw  tho  angels  with  their  aiure  wings ; 
And  lifted  up  their  voices  in  a  song 
H'  praise  and  joj,  that  not  from  them  were  hidden^ 
i^y  blinding  avarice  and  worldly  care 
Of  shells  and  sea-weed,  all  th'  immensity 
Of  nature — all  th*  indnitude  of  heaven — 
And  all  the  hope,  bright  as  a  certainty, 
I  i\at  here,  upon  this  low  and  gloomy  shores 
Our  life  is  but  a  germ,  that  ^hall  expand 
To  fruit  and  foliage  in  a  brij^hter  dime. 

Aiui  all  of  these  spake  to  the  crowd  in  song 
A    '  V  '    thoiu  lift  thoir  dull  earth-bending  ejyei^ 
\  .v>\v  Ivniuitul  \voix>  life  and  Time; 

Aiui  l\iac^  \\\c\\\  \\>{c\\  tv>  tho  otoTual  chant 

A    vl  suug 

1^^  wii.cU  Uicir  words  ins][uied 

^'^  ^^  ^ununn  kind* 

th  the  crowd) 

\\  ..v-  SX......I  r....   ..>.....  a. ..I  N^. ..■>.■  o.-a^9  were  vex^d 

\\ith   nil   that  wouKl   viistrnvi  thoiw  t\\)m  their  shdl^ 
Aiul   wi'horu^.^-  ihilso  nuvl   t:u\gh\s  on  the  shoro. 

UiU    ono  ol"  thiMu    wiili    \ouiM-aMo  h:ui\ 

And  a  lai^g^^  br.^w .  l^mven, 

Kebuked  x\\c\\\  u^v  their  wr;.  .mivi  sadwocdm^ 

And  said—  v.)h  bix>then^  Vv     .       .  your  aoulsl 


112  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

If  they  are  happy  with  their  weeds  and  shells, 

Let  them  alone  : — And  if  their  hearts  prefer 

Pebbles  to  stars,  and  sound  of  their  own  feet 

Plashing  amid  the  waters,  to  the  song 

Of  angels,  and  the  mnsic  of  the  spheres — 

Let  them  alone.     Why  should  ye  vex  yourselves? 

Are  ye  not  happy  that  to  your  keen  sight 

Those  things  are  shown  which   they  refuse  to  see  ? 

Are  ye  not  happy  that  your  ears  can  hear 

The  oracles  of  Nature,  mute  to  them  ? 

That  ye  are  priests  and  prophets,  though  contemn'd? 

Brothers  ! — be  wise — make  music  to  your  minds  ! 

For  he  who  singeth  from  his  own  full  heart 

Has  his  reward  even  in  the  utterance. 

Brothers! — be  wise — and  sing  your  songs  in  peace!" 


113 


A  TRAVELLER'S  TALE. 


Op  what  shall  travellers  talk  on  rainy  days? 

Of  rain  and  snow  ?  the  sunshine  and  the  storm  1 

Of  Politics  1     Keligion  ?     Scandal  ?     Shop  ? 

Or  personal  anecdote?     The  weather?     No; — 

The  topic  is  full  stale.     Of  politics  ? 

'Tis  dangerous  ground.  Of  creed?  more  dangerous  still. 

Of  scandal  ?     Heaven  forefend  !     Or  of  the  shop  ? 

I  prithee  let  us  leave  the  shop  alone  ! 

Of  personal  anecdote  ?     Why,  what  is  that 

But  the  old  scandal  in  a  new  disguise ! 

What  shall  we  talk  of,  then?     I  know  not  well, 

Unless  you  hear  a  mournful  thing  that  chanced 

Here  in  the  Pyrenees,  two  years  ago. 

I  parted  from  the  heroes  of  the  tale. 

Two  friends  and  comrades,  in  this  very  room, 

And  little  thought,  amid  their  merriment, 

Their  lusty  health  and  joyous  hopefulness. 

How  soon  the  end  would  come.     This  cabaret 

Resounding  now  with  laughter,  jest,  and  talk, 

Seems  no  fit  scene  to  lodge  a  tragedy. 

Yet  so  it  was : — but  let  me  tell  the  tale. 


'Twas  in  September,  just  two  years  ago, 
That  Vere  and  Huntley,  youths  scarce  twenty-one. 
And  fresh  from  Cambridge  on  their  way  to  Spain 
Stopp'd  in  the  Pyrenees.     They  did  not  hunt, 
Or  shoot,  or  angle,  or  delight  in  sport, 
I 


114  BALLADS  AXD  LYRICAL  POEMS. 

But  seem'd  to  glory  in  ascending  hills, 
Scaling  high  rocks,  and  tracking  waterfalls. 
They  loved  the  rude  and  dizzy  mountain-top, 
And  all  the  splendour  of  its  wildest  scenes. 
Vere  had  a  poet's  eye  and  painter's  hand, 
And  Huntley,  though  no  poet,  stored  his  mind 
With  images  of  beauty  : — both  would  walk 
Three  leagues  ere  breakfast  to  a  precipice. 
To  see  the  sunrise  in  its  majesty ; 
Ever  on  foot,  and  ever  full  of  joy. 
Their  cheeks  were    tann'd  in  the  healthy  open  air  j 
Their  limbs  were  vigorous,  their  hearts  were  light, 
Their  talk  was  cheerful  as  the  song  of  birds ; 
And  when  they  laugh'd,  the  clear  loud  volleys  rang 
With  such  contagious  music,  that  I've  laugh'd 
For  very  sympathy,  yet  knew  not  why. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  crisp  and  fresh, 

When  they  invited  me  to  share  their  walk. 

And  trace  a  mountain-torrent  to  its  source. 

They  had  no  object  but  the  exercise. 

And  search  for  natural  beauty,  ever  new. 

But  I  had  promised  Jean  Baptiste,  the  guide. 

To  hunt  the  chamois  with  him,  and  I  long'd 

For  my  own  sport,  more  hazardous  than  theirs. 

And  more  congenial  to  my  ruder  tastes. 

And  so  we  parted.     "We'll  be  back,"  said  Yere, 

"  At  six,  to  dinner  in  the  Cabaret : 

Wilt  thou  dine  with  us,  Nimrod  of  the  hills?" — 

— "With  all  my  heart !"  and  so  we  went  our  ways, 

And  far  adown  the  valley  I  could  hear 

Their  jocund  voices  singing  English  songs. 


A  traveller's  tale.  115 

And  catcli  amid  the  pauses  of  the  tune 
The  echoes  of  their  laughter  on  the  wind. 

I  had  good  sport  upon  the  hills  that  day. 

When  I  retum'd,  I  noticed  as  I  came 

A  crowd  of  peasants  standing  at  the  door ; 

Here  was  a  group  of  women, — there  of  men ; 

And  all  discussing  something  that  had  chanced, 

With  quick  gesticulation,  and  confused 

And  broken  sentences  : — some  raised  their  hands, 

Look'd  up  to  heaven,  and  shook  their  heads  and  sigh'd. 

While  twenty  voices  speaking  all  at  once, 

Told  the  same  story  twenty  different  ways. 

"Here  comes  the  other  Englishman,"  said  one: 

"There's  a  sad  sight  within!"     "Ay!  sad  indeed  1" 

Keplied  another.     Quickly  passing  through, 

I  forced  my  way  into  the  inner  room, 

And  there  beheld  poor  Huntley  on  the  bed 

With  Vere  beside  him,  kneeling  on  the  ground. 

Clasping  his  hands,  and  burying  his  face 

Between  them,  and  the  body  of  his  friend. 

In  all  the  beauty  and  the  pride  of  youth, 

Huntley  went  forth  at  morning,  and  ere  night 

He  lay  a  corpse. — An  awful  loveliness 

Sat  on  his  clay-cold  form ;  so  calm  he  lay 

Amid  the  hurry  and  anxiety 

And  deep  distress  and  pitying  words  and  groans 

Of  those  around — it  seem'd  as  he  alone 

Of  all  that  crowd  were  happy.     He  was  dead; — 

But  how  he  died,  'twas  long  ere  I  could  learn 

From  the  survivor,  who  with  senseless  words 

And  sobs,  and  groans,  and  prayers  to  Heaven  for  help, 


116  BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  POEMS. 

Broke  off  continually  what  he  began. 

I  learn'd  it  afterwards  when  he  grew  calm, 

And  loved  him  ever  since.     They'd  track'd  the  stream 

From  morn  till  noon,  discovering  as  they  went, 

New  beauties,  grandeurs,  and  sublimities 

At  every  step.     Right  well  in  all  her  moods. 

Those  friends  congenial  loved  dear  Nature's  face. 

'Twas  now  the  torrent  with  its  burst  and  fall. 

That  charm'd  their  sight ;  now,  'twas  th'  umbrageous 

arch 
Of  trees,  high-perch'd  on  the  o'erhanging  rock ; 
Then  'twas  the  rock  itself,  with  lichens  grown. 
And  pine  and  larch ; — and  then  it  was  a  glimpse 
Betwixt  the  crags  into  a  world  beneath. 
Stretching  in  loveliness  of  cultured  plains. 
Studded  with  farms  and  clustering  villages 
That  fill'd  them  with  delight. — And  so  they  clomb 
From  crag  to  crag,  and  conquer'd  as  they  went 
More  perils  than  they  knew:  lured  ever  on 
By  novelty  of  beauty  and  the  heat 
Of  young  adventure ;  but  they  clomb  too  well. 
Yere  took  an  upward  track,  and  scaled  the  crag, 
While  Huntley,  travelling  lower,  reach'd  a  ledge. 
He  knew  not  how — where — pausing  on  the  brink 
With  scarcely  room  enough  to  lodge  his  heel. 
He  could  not  stand  with  safety — or  descend 
Without  the  risk  of  falling  from  the  height, 
Two  hundred  feet  into  a  chasm  below. 
Where  boil'd  the  angry  flood  o'er  jutting  rocks. 
Ten  feet  above  him  in  security 
Stood  Vere — alarm'd, — but  how  to  reach  his  friend 
Seem'd  to  defy  all  knowledge  to  discern, 


I 


A  traveller's  tale.  117 


Or  known,  his  utmost  daring  to  attempt. 

To  mount  seem'd  easier  than  to  clamber  down; 

And  he  was  growing  dizzy  where  he  stood. 

Yere  stretch'd  himself  upon  the  beetling  edge 

Of  the  tall  precipice,  and  held  his  hand 

Toward  his  friend,  in  hope,  if  hands  could  meet, 

He  might,  by  help  of  some  projecting  root, 

Some  angle  of  the  rock,  or  tufted  herb. 

Hoist  him  in  safety;  but  the  attempt  was  vain. 

Their  hands,  by  utmost  stress  of  yearning  grasp 

Could  reach  no  nearer  than  a  long  arm's  length ; 

So  Yere  bethought  him  of  his  walking-stick. 

An  old  companion  of  his  mountain  walks. 

And  stretch'd  the  handle  to  his  eager  friend. 

That  he  might  grasp  it  with  his  strong  right  hand. 

And  with  the  left  spring  upward  to  the  root. 

Twisted  and  sinuous,  of  a  mountain  ash 

That  nodded  o'er  the  stream ;  and  by  this  aid 

Attain  the  safe  high  platform  of  the  rock. 

He  caught  the  friendly  aid;  but  as  he  grasp'd. 

He  felt  it  lengthening — lengthening — in  his  hand; 

And  his  eyes  swam  in  horror  as  he  saw 

The  handle  separating  from  the  stick. 

Leaving  a  scabbard  in  the  hand  of  Yere, 

The  sword  in  his.     Yere  shriek'd  in  agony: 

He  had  forgotten.     Huntley  groan'd  but  once — 

Cried  to  his  God  for  mercy  on  his  soul. 

And  lost  his  footing.     Down  amid  the  rocks 

He  fell — and  fell  again,  and  all  was  o'er, 

When  Yere  descended  by  the  usual  path 

And  found  his  friend,  the  breath  of  life  had  fled ; 


118        BALLADS  AND  LYEICAL  POEMS. 

The  skull  was  fractured,  but  his  face  unhurt, 

Seem'd  as  he  slumber'd,  while  his  stiff  cold  hand 

Still  held  the  fatal  sword-stick  in  his  grasp. 

They  brought  the  body  to  the  Cabaret, 

And  on  the  third  day  laid  him  in  his  grave. 

I  thought,  at  times,  two  other' deaths  would  fill 

The  awful  measure  of  this  tragedy. 

That  Yere's  remorse,  contrition,  and  despair, 

At  his  unhappy,  but  most  innocent  act. 

Would  end  his  days.     Yet  though  his  grief  was  great, 

'Twas  nothing  to  the  misery  I  saw 

When  Huntley's  mother,  young  and  beautiful, 

Although  her  son  was  twenty  years  of  age, — 

Hasten'd  from  London  to  behold  the  grave 

Where  they  had  lain  her  darling.     Let  me  close 

The  sad  recital : — language  fails  to  tell 

The  holy  madness  of  a  grief  like  hers. 


cox  (bbos.)  and  wtmait,  peintees,  gekat  queen-stbbet. 


§nm  ixm  i\t  fountains. 


f  0ites  from  t\t  Sountaiits. 


MOUNTAIN  STREAMS. 

AN     ASPIRATION     FROM     TOWN. 

What  time  the  fern  puts  forth  its  rings, 

What  time  the  early  throstle  sings, 

I  love  to  fly  the  murky  town, 

And  tread  the  moorlands,  bare  and  brown  ; 

From  greenest  level  of  the  glens 

To  barest  summit  of  the  Bens, 

To  trace  the  torrents  where  they  flow, 

Serene  or  brawling,  fierce  or  slow; 

To  linger  pleased,  and  loiter  long, 

A  silent  listener  to  their  song. 

Farewell,  ye  streets !     Again  I'll  sit 
On  crags  to  watch  the  shadows  flit ; 
To  list  the  buzzing  of  the  bee. 
Or  branches  waving  like  a  sea ; 
To  hear  far  off  the  cuckoo's  note, 
Or  lark^s  clear  carol  high  afloat, 
B 


'    VOlbi:S'FltOM   THE   MOUNTAINS, 

And  find  a  joy  in  every  sound, 
Of  air,  the  water,  or  the  ground ; 
Of  fancies  full,  though  fixing  nought, 
And  thinking — heedless  of  my  thought. 

Farewell !   and  in  the  teeth  of  care 
I'll  breathe  the  buxom  mountain  air, 
Feed  vision  upon  dyes  and  hues 
Tiiat  from  the  hill-top  interfuse. 
White  rocks,  and  lichens  born  of  spray, 
Dark  heather-tufts,  and  mosses  grey, 
Green  grass,  blue  sky,  and  boulders  brown, 
With  amber  waters  glistening  down. 
And  early  flowers,  blue,  white,  and  pink. 
That  fringe  with  beauty  all  the  brink. 

Farewell,  ye  streets !     Beneath  an  arch 
Of  drooping  birch  or  feathery  larch, 
Or  mountain-ash,  that  o'er  it  bends, 
I'll  watch  some  streamlet  as  it  wends  ; 
Some  brook  whose  tune  its  course  betrays. 
Whose  verdure  tracks  its  hidden  ways — 
Yerdure  of  trees  and  bloom  of  flowers, 
And  music  fresher  than  the  showers, 
Soft  dripping  where  the  tendrils  twine  ; 
And  all  its  beauty  shall  be  mine. 

Ay,  mine,  to  bring  me  joy  and  health, 
And  endless  store  of  mental  wealth — 
Wealth  ever  given  to  hearts  that  warm 
To  loveliness  of  sound  or  form. 


MOUNTAIN  STREAMS. 

And  that  can  see  in  Nature's  face 
A  hope,  a  beauty,  and  a  grace — 
That  in  the  city  or  the  woods, 
In  thoroughiares  or  solitudes, 
Can  live  their  life  at  Nature's  call, 
Despising  nothing,  loving  all. 

Sweet  streams,  that  over  summits  leap. 
Or  fair  in  rock-hewn  basins  sleep ; 
That  foaming  burst  in  bright  cascades, 
Or  toy  with  cowslips  in  the  shades ; 
That  shout  till  earth  and  sky  grow  mute. 
Or  tinkle  lowly  as  a  lute  ; 
That  sing  a  song  of  lusty  joy, 
Or  murmur  like  a  love-lorn  boy  ; 
That  creep  or  fall,  that  flow  or  run — 
I  dote  upon  you  every  one. 

For  many  a  day  of  calm  delight, 
And  hour  of  pleasure  stol'n  from  night ; 
For  morning  freshness,  joy  of  noon. 
And  beauty  rising  with  the  moon ; 
For  health,  encrimsoner  of  cheeks. 
And  wisdom  gain'd  on  mountain-peaks  ; 
For  inward  light  from  Nature  won, 
And  visions  gilded  by  the  sun; 
For  fancies  fair  and  waking  dreams — 
I  love  you  all,  ye  mountain  streams. 


B  2 


VOICES  FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


MELODIES  AND  MYSTERIES. 

WouLDST  thou  know  what  the  blithe  bird  pipeth, 

High  in  the  morning  air? 
Wouldst  thou  know  what  the  bright  stream  singeth, 

Kippling  o'er  pebbles  bare  ? 
Sorrow  the  mystery  shall  teach  thee, 

And  the  words  declare. 


Wouldst  thou  find  in  the  rose's  blossom 

More  than  thy  fellows  find? 
More  in  the  fragrance  of  the  lily 

Than  odour  on  the  wind? 
Love  N'ature,  and  her  smallest  atoms 

Shall  whisper  to  thy  mind. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  the  moon  discourseth 

To  the  docile  sea? 
Wouldst  hear  the  echoes  of  the  music 

Of  the  far  infinity  ? 
Sorrow  shall  ope  the  founts  of  knowledge, 

And  heaven  shall  sing  to  thee. 

Wouldst  thou  see  through  the  riddle  of  Being 

Further  than  others  can? 
Sorrow  shall  give  thine  eyes  new  lustre 

To  simplify  the  plan ; 
And  love  of  God  and  thy  kind  shall  aid  thee 

To  end  what  it  began. 


MELODIES   AND    MYSTERIES. 

To  Love  and  Sorrow  all  !N"ature  speaketli ; 

If  the  riddle  be  read, 
They  the  best  can  see  through  darkness 

Each  divergent  thread 
Of  its  mazy  texture,  and  discover 

Whence  the  ravel  spread. 

Love  and  Sorrow  are  sympathetic 

With  the  earth  and  skies; 
Their  touch  from  the  harp  of  Nature  bringeth 

The  hidden  melodies  ; 
To  them  the  eternal  chords  for  ever 

Yibrate  in  harmonies. 


VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 
THE  MAN  IN  THE  DEAD  SEA. 

AN    APOLOGUE. 

Walking  on  the  Dead  Sea  shore, 
Meditating  evermore, 
Underneath  the  burning  ray 
Of  intolerable  day, 
I  beheld  a  fearful  thing — 

Bloody  deed  as  e'er  was  done, 
Wrought,  unblushing,  unrelenting, 

In  the  presence  of  the  sun. 

Fair,  and  young,  and  bright  was  he, 
Who  that  morning  walk'd  with  me 
By  the  margin  of  the  sea ; 
Calm,  and  eloquent,  and  wise, 

Badiant  in  immortal  youth  ; 
Knowledge  sparkled  in  his  eyes. 

From  his  forehead  living  truth. 
He  was  a  youth  indeed  divine, 
A  master  and  a  friend  of  mine. 
For  whose  dear  sake  I  would  have  given 
All  on  the  mortal  side  of  heaven. 

We  talk'd  together  and  paced  along; 
We  did  no  mortal  creature  wrong ; 
And  sometimes  sitting  on  the  sands, 

Or  on  the  jutting  rocks  below. 
He  look'd  at  me,  and  clasp'd  my  hands, 

And  told  me  things  I  ou^ht  to  know— 


THE   MAN    IN   THE   DEAD    SEA. 

Things  of  heaven  and  things  of  earth, 
Things  of  wisdom  and  of  mirth  ; 
The  wisdom  cheerful,  the  mirth  most  wise. 
And  both  brimful  of  mysteries. 

There  came  a  woman  by  the  way — 

A  stately  woman,  proud  and  strong  ; 
Her  robe  of  purple  velvet  shone. 
Like  a  starry  night,  with  precious  stone, 

And  trail'd  the  sands  as  she  swept  along. 
She  wore  a  dagger  at  her  side, 

Jewel -hilted,  bright,  and  keen  : 
You  might  have  told,  by  her  crown  of  gold, 

This  gorgeous  woman  was  a  queen; 
But  more  by  her  eyes,  that  flash'd  the  fire 

Of  one  accustom'd  to  control ; 
To  rule  in  awe,  and  give  the  law 

That  binds  the  body  and  the  soul. 
And,  in  her  train,  there  folio w'd  her 

A  well-arm'd  troop  of  stalwart  men, 
So  bloody  and  bare,  I  do  not  care 

Ever  to  see  their  like  again. 

My  friend  arose  and  look'd  at  her  ; 

Calm  and  beautiful  he  stood, 
With  such  magnificence  of  eye 

As  God  but  gives  unto  the  good. 
She  scowl'd  at  him  ;  each  quivering  limb 

In  all  her  body  spake  her  wrath  ; 
And  her  fearful  tongue  loud  curses  flung 

At  the  mild  presence  in  her  path  : 


VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

"  Monster  of  evil !  fiend  of  guile  ! 

What  brings  thee  here  to  blast  my  sight  ? 
But  since  thou  darest,  in  the  day, 
To  meet  and  brave  me  in  the  way, 

We'll  try  thy  power — we'll  know  thy  right." 

"Lady,"  he  said,  and  mildly  spoke, 

While  heavenly  beauty  lit  his  face, 
"My  God  hath  made  me  what  I  am, 

And  given  me  an  abiding-place  ; 
And  if  my  presence  please  thee  not, 

The  world  is  wide — thou  need'st  not  come 
To  play  me  in  each  quiet  spot. 

Where  I  have  sanctified  a  home. 
Thou'st  taken  from  me  wide  domains, 

And  follow'd  me  with  hate  and  scorn ; 
Enjoy  thine  own — let  me  alone — 

I  wait  in  patience  for  the  Morn." 

A  frenzy  flush'd  her  burning  brow, 
A  rage  too  mighty  to  contain  ; 

Her  nostrils  widen  d,  and  seem'd  to  smoke  ; 

She  grasp'd  her  neck  as  she  would  choke. 
And  then,  like  one  who  suffer'd  pain. 

Her  trembling  lips  she  did  compress  ; 

Her  cheeks  grew  cold  and  colourless. 

But  soon  the  madness  of  her  blood 

Boil'd  in  her  bosom  where  she  stood  ; 

Her  eyes  seem'd  coals  of  living  flame, 

And  incoherent  curses  came. 

Gasping  and  gurgling,  from  her  mouth; — 

Never  tornado  of  the  south 


THE    MAN    IN   THE   DEAD    SEA. 

IMade  half  the  wreck  as,  in  that  hour, 
She  would  have  made,  had  she  the  power. 

My  friend  stood  by,  with  folded  arms, 

Serene,  and  innocent,  and  pure ; 
And  when  she  saw  that  he  but  smiled 

At  all  her  hate,  she  could  endure 
No  longer  on  his  face  to  look, 

But  smote  it  with  her  jewell'd  hand  : 
"  Insensate  wretch  ! "  she  fiercely  said, 

"  Let  me  not  slay  thee  where  I  stand  ; 
I  will  not  stab  thee  to  the  heart. 

Lest,  in  my  haste,  I  mar  delight. 
And  thou  shouldst  die  and  end  thy  pain 

Too  suddenly  before  my  sight. 
Not  yet  thy  venomous  blood  shall  flow, 
But  I  vnll  slay  thee  ere  I  go  1" 

Her  body-guards,  so  fierce  and  grim, 
Seized  his  arms  and  pinion'd  him  ; 
And  every  one,  with  his  gauntlet  on, — • 

An  iron  gauntlet,  heavy  to  bear, — 
Smote  him  on   his  cheeks  and  eyes, 

And  bruised  his  lips,  so  ruddy  fair. 
Till  the  blood  started,  and  over-dyed 

The  bloom  of  his  face  with  gory  red; 
And  then  they  spat  on  him  in  spite, 

And  heap'd  foul  curses  on  his  head. 
And  he — what  could  he  do  but  pray, 

And  let  them  work  their  cruel  will  ? — 
Tum'd  his  looks  to  the  judging  sky. 

Appealing,  though  forgiving  still. 


10  VOICES   FROM   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

Then  from  Ids  lilj  skin  tliey  tore 

Every  vestment  that  he  bore  ; 

Smote  him,  threw  him  on  the  ground, 

And  his  limbs  with  fetters  bound  ; 

Naked,  helpless,  and  forlorn, 

Mark  for  all  their  wrath  and  scorn  ; 

And  with  lying  words,  accused 

Of  every  shame,  deceit,  and  crime  ; 
And,  when  once  he  strove  to  speak, 

Fill'd  his  mouth  with  sand  and  slime  ; 
Stamping  on  him  as  he  lay 
Bound  and  bleeding  on  the  way; 
And  I,  alas  !  alone,  alone  ! 
Could  but  curse  them  and  bemoan 
That  I  could  not,  as  I  trod, 
Grasp  th'  avenging  bolts  of  God. 


And  as  he  lay  upon  the  beach, 

Deprived  of  motion  and  of  speech, 

The  queen,  that  woman  so  proud  and  fierce, 

Look'd  upon  him  with  feverish  joy  ; 
Her  fiery  glances  seem'd  to  pierce 

Through  and  through  the  bleeding  boy  ; 
She  put  her  hand  on  his  naked  breast, 

And  felt  his  heart :  "  Ah  !  well/'  said  she, 
"  It  beats  and  beats,  but  shall  not  beat 

To  vex  me  thus  incessantly." 
And  she  drew  the  poniard  from  her  side, 

Slowly,  calmly,  sheath  and  all ; 
Unsheathed  it,  felt  if  its  edge  were  sharp, 

And  dipp'd  its  point  in  poisonous  gall; 


I 


THE   MAN   IN   THE   DEAD   SEA.  11 

And,  kneeling  down,  with  flashing  face 
Gazed  upon  him  in  that  place. 

She  did  not  stab  him  :  she  grasp'd  his  flesh 

As  if  she'd  tear  it  from  his  bones  ; 
Then  took  the  slime  from  his  bleeding  mouth, 

That  she  might  hear  his  piteous  groans. 
He  faintly  said,  "  Thou  canst  not  kill ; 
My  charmed  life  defies  thy  will." 
"  I  can,"  she  answer'd,  whispering  low ; — 
"  This  is  the  death  that  thou  shalt  know. 
Thy  days  are  number'd — thy  race  is  run ; 
Thou  art  an  insult  to  the  sun." 
And  in  his  breast,  up  to  the  hilt. 

She  plunged  the  dagger,  and  wrench'd  it  round, 
Then  drew  it  out  with  a  joyous  cry. 

And  pointed  to  the  ghastly  wound; 
Then  drove  it  in  again — again, 

With  force  redoubled  every  time  ; 
And  left  it  sticking  in  his  heart 

For  very  luxury  of  crime. 

Sense  and  motion  left  his  frame. 

From  his  lips  no  breathing  came  : 

"  He's  dead,"  quoth  she  ;  "  he's  dead  at  last, 

And  all  my  agony  is  past. 

Take  him  up  !  let  the  Dead  Sea  wave 

Float  him  about  without  a  grave  ! 

Take  him  up  and  throw  him  in  ! 

In  these  waters  none  can  sink  ; — 
'Mid  the  foul  naphtha  let  him  swim, 


12  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

To  gorge  the  vultures,  limb  by  limb, 

When  they  come  to  the  water's  brink  ! 
And  if  they  come  not,  let  him  lie, 
Eotting  betwixt  the  wave  and  sky  ! — 
Take  him  by  the  heels  and  chin. 
And  spit  oniiim,  and  cast  him  in!" 

They  twined  their  coarse  hands  in  his  hair ; 
They  took  his  body,  so  white  and  fair ; 
They  spat  upon  his  patient  face. 
Pale,  but  fill'd  with  heavenly  grace ; 
They  took  him  up,  and  in  the  sea. 
They  cast  him  ignominiously. 
And  the  fearful  woman,  proud  and  strong, 
The  fiendish  woman  who  did  the  wrong. 
Bade  clarion  sound,  and  trumpet  play, 
And  went  exulting  on  her  way. 

A  sudden  wind — a  treacherous  wind — 

Arose  upon  that  Dead  Sea  shore ; 
The  heavy  waves  began  to  swell. 

To  chafe,  and  foam,  and  lash,  and  roar  ; 
A  gloom  o'erspread  the  clear  blue  sky  : — 
Once  alone  I  could  descry 
His  fair  white  limbs  go  floating  by 

On  the  crest  of  a  distant  wave  ; 
And  I  sat  me  down  upon  the  sand. 
Wailing  that  I,  with  strong  right  hand. 

Had  not  snatch'd  him  from  the  grave, 
And  smitten  the  murd'ress  to  the  dust 
Ere  she  sacrificed  the  just. 


THE   MAN    IN   THE   DEAD    SEA.  13 

All  that  day  the  storm  blew  high, 
And  all  that  day  I  linger'd  there ; 

There  was  no  living  thing  but  I 

On  the  shore  of  that  sad  sea, 

And  I  was  moaning  piteously. 

Towards  the  night  the  wind  blew  fair, 

And  the  silver  rim  of  the  bright  new  moon 
Shone  in  a  deep  cerulean  air, 

And  look'd  at  itself  in  the  salt  lagoon. 

And  there  was  silence,  cold  as  death ; 

Not  a  motion  but  my  breath. 


Long  I  sat  upon  the  shore, 

Brooding  on  that  cruel  wrong, 
Wondering  if  for  evermore 

The  evil  thing  should  be  the  strong  : 
When  I  heard  a  sudden  sound, 
And  saw  a  phosphorescent  track 
On  the  breast  of  the  waves  so  dull  and  black. 
I  listen'd — I  could  plainly  hear 
The  measured  stroke,  precise  and  clear. 
Of  a  swimmer  swimming  near  : — 
I  look'd — I  saw  the  floating  locks, 

The  face  upturn'd,  the  bosom  brave. 
The  calm  full  eyes,  that  look'd  on  me 
Through  the  darkness  of  the  sea; 

The  strong  limbs,  battling  with  the  wave  : — 
I  saw  the  motion — I  heard  the  breath, 
I  knew  his  victory  over  death. 


14  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

It  was  my  friend,  my  living  friend ; 

I  clasp'd  him,  clad  him,  wept  for  joy. 
"  They  may  think,"  he  said,  "  to  strike  me  dead, 

They  can  but  wound  me — not  destroy. 
The  strongest  bands,  the  fastest  chain, 
On  my  free  limbs  will  not  remain ; 
For  the  deepest  wounds  that  hate  can  strike, 

I  find  a  healing  in  the  air; 
Even  poison'd  weapons  cannot  kill ; 

They're  powerless  on  the  life  I  bear. 
And  she,  whose  hate  pursues  me  still, 

A  queen  superb,  of  lofty  line, 
Shall  have  her  day,  then  fade  away, 

And  all  her  empire  shall  be  mine." 


c^>~fi»^^2>'^fe<=D>5a--^ 


THE   FOLLOWER.  15 


THE  FOLLOWEE. 


"  Why  dosfc  tbou  look  so  sad  and  wan  ? 
And  why  art  thou  so  woe-begone  ? 
Why  dost  thou  mutter  words  of  fear? 
Do  I  not  love  thee,  father  dear  ? 
Is  not  earth  a  place  of  joy? 
Tell  me,  father,  tell  thy  boy." 

II. 

*'  There  is  a  fiend  doth  follow  me  ; 
A  fearful  fiend  thou  canst  not  see, — 
But  I  behold  him.     Day  or  night 
He  is  not  absent  from  my  sight : 
I  know  thou  lovest  me,  O  my  child, — 
But  this  demon  drives  me  wild. 

III. 

"  The  world  was  once  both  good  and  fair, 
There  was  a  glory  in  the  air. 
When  my  heart  was  pure  and  young, 
By  guilt  and  misery  unwrung; 
But  a  demon  such  as  this. 
Makes  an  agony  of  bliss. 


16  VOICES   FHOM   THE   MOUNTAIXS. 

IV. 

"  He  besets  my  daily  patli, 
I  am  the  victim  of  his  wrath ; 
He  smears  his  fingers  o'er  my  meat, 
And  poisons  everything  I  eat ; 
Puts  fatal  acid  in  my  drink — 
Oh,  it  is  misery  to  think  ! 

V. 

"  He  lies  beside  me  in  my  bed  ; 
He  places  thorns  beneath  my  head; 
He  sits  upon  my  suffering  breast, 
And  sends  the  dreams  that  mar  my  rest : 
He  tracks  my  steps  where'er  I  stray, 
And  gibes  and  mocks  me  night  and  day. 

VI. 

"When  sympathetic  friends  condole, 
And  whisper  comfort  to  my  soul, 
This  spiteful  devil  comes  to  and  fro, 
And  turns  each  friend  into  a  foe  ; 
Perverts  my  comfort  into  pain. 
Maddening  my  heart  and  brain. 

VII. 

"When  I  think  I'm  all  alone, 
I  start  to  hear  his  mocking  groan  ; 
I  see  his  fearful  face  and  eyes, — 
That  hellish  face  which  multiplies, 


I 


THE   FOLLOWER.  17 

And  fills  the  room  from  roof  to  floor 
Witli  scowling  demons  evermore, 

VIII 

"  Cruel  is  he ;    his  power  is  great ; 
He  pursues  me ;    he  is  fate. 
If  I  look  to  heaven,  and  pray, 
I  see  his  dreadful  shape  mid- way; 
And  ev'n  the  placid  stars  assume 
His  sneering  likeness  in  the  gloom. 

IX. 

"  He  leads  my  steps  to  dark,  deep  pools, 
And  says,  'J^one  live  but  wretched  fools.' 
He  puts  sharp  weapons  in  my  sight, 
And  shows  me  poison,  ruby  bright, 
And  whispers,  if  I  like  him  not, 
How  soon  my  freedom  may  be  got. 

X. 

"  At  times  I  think  my  heart  will  break ; 
But  I  resist  him  for  thy  sake  : 
His  power  departs  when  thou  art  near — 
Of  thy  sweet  face  he  stands  in  fear ; 
And  if  thou'lt  love  me,  O  my  boy, 
I'll  grapple  with  him,  and  destroy." 

XL 

"  Father,  I  love  thee  :    I  will  ]>ray 
For  strength  to  drive  this  fiend  away. 
O 


18  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

And  if  thou  wilt  be  bold  of  heart, 
I  know  the  demon  will  depart ; 
And  I  will  walk  with  thee  abroad, 
And  scare  him  with  the  name  of  God. 


XII. 

"  I'll  lie  beside  thee  in  the  night. 
He  shall  not  come  to  plague  thy  sight. 
Why  should  his  face  fill  up  the  skies 
With  hideousness  and  mockeries? 
There  are  fair  faces  up  in  heaven, 
That  always  smile  on  the  forgiven. 


XIII. 

"  They  beam  upon  us  :    they  are  strong  : 
This  fiend  shall  not  resist  them  long. 
Well  see  them  in  the  stars  and  moon. 
We'll  see  them  in  the  sun  at  noon ; 
We'll  see  them  in  the  leaves  and  flowers, 
And  hear  them  singing  'mid  the  bowers. 


XIV. 

"  He  is  but  one  :    why  should  we  fear, 
When  smiling  angels  fill  the  sphere  1 
And  one  among  them  known  to  thee — 
Chief  angel  of  m^  memory — 
My  mother,  dead,  and  gone  before!" — 

"Talk  thus,  my  child,  I'll  fear  no  more. 


THE  FOLLOWER. 


19 


XV. 

"Thy  heart  is  pure,  thy  speech  is  mild, 
I  gain  instruction  from  a  child  ; 
The  fiend  that  haunts  me  must  depart, — 
He  cannot  vex  me  where  thou  art — 
Thy  mother's  memory  1  God !  and  thee ! 
The  fiend  has  fied — my  soul  is  free  !*'' 


c2 


20  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


WE  AEE  WISER  THAN  WE  KNOW. 

Thou,  who  in  the  midnight  silence 

Lookest  to  the  orbs  on  high, 

Feeling  humbled,  yet  elated. 

In  the  presence  of  the  sky; 

Thou,  who  minglest  with  thy  sadness 

Pride  ecstatic,  awe  divine. 

That  even  thou  canst  trace  their  progress 

And  the  law  by  which  they  shine, — 

Intuition  shall  uphold  thee, 

Ev'n  though  Eeason  drag  thee  low; 

Lean  on  faith,  look  up  rejoicing — 

We  are  wiser  than  we  Icnow, 

Thou,  who  hearest  plaintive  music, 

Or  sweet  songs  of  other  days; 

Heaven-revealing  organs  pealing. 

Or  clear  voices  hymning  praise. 

And  wouldst  weep,  thou  know'st  not  wherefore, 

Though  thy  soul  is  steep'd  in  joy, 

And  the  world  looks  kindly  on  thee, 

And  thy  bliss  hath  no  alloy, — 

Weep,  nor  seek  for  consolation. 

Let  the  heaven-sent  droplets  flow, 

They  are  hints  of  mighty  secrets — 

We  are  wiser  than  we  know! 


WE  ARE   WISER   THAN  WE   KNOW.  21 

Thou,  who  in  the  noon-time  brightness 
Seest  a  shadow  undefined; 
Hear'st  a  voice  that  indistinctly 
Whispers  caution  to  thy  mind: 
Thou,  who  hast  a  vague  foreboding 
That  a  peril  may  be  near. 
Even  when  Nature  smiles  around  thee, 
And  thy  Conscience  holds  thee  clear. 
Trust  the  warning — look  before  thee — 
Angels  may  the  mirror  show, 
Dimly  still,  but  sent  to  guide  thee — 
We  are  wiser  than  loe  know. 

Countless  chords  of  heavenly  music, 
Struck  ere  earthly  time  began, 
Vibrate  in  immortal  concord 
Through  the  answering  soul  of  man  : 
Countless  rays  of  heavenly  glory 
Shine  through  spirit  pent  in  clay, 
On  the  wise  men  at  their  labours, 
On  the  children  at  their  play. 
Man  has  gazed  on  heavenly  secrets, 
Sunn'd  himself  in  heavenly  glow, 
Seen  the  glory;  heard  the  music; — 
We  are  wiser  than  we  know. 


22  VOICES  FROM  THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MOURNEES. 

A  LITTLE  child,  beneath  a  tree, 

Sat  and  chanted  cheerily 

A  little  song,  a  pleasant  song, 

Which  was — she  sang  it  all  day  long — 

"When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall, 

But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all!" 

There  pass'd  a  lady  by  the  way. 
Moaning  in  the  face  of  day : 
There  were  tears  upon  her  cheek, 
Grief  in  her  heart  too  great  to  speak; 
Her  husband  died  but  yester-morn. 
And  left  her  in  the  world  forlorn. 

She  stopp'd  and  listened  to  the  child. 

That  look'd  to  Heaven,  and,  singing,  smiled; 

And  saw  not,  for  her  own  despair, 

Another  lady,  young  and  fair. 

Who,  also  passing,  stopp'd  to  hear 

The  infant's  anthem  ringing  clear. 

For  she,  but  few  sad  days  before. 
Had  lost  the  little  babe  she  bore; 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MOURNERS.        23 

And  grief  was  heavy  at  her  soul, 
As  that  sweet  memor}'-  o'er  her  stole, 
And  show'd  how  bright  had  been  the  Past, 
The  Present  drear  and  overcast. 

And  as  they  stood  beneath  the  tree, 

Listening,  soothed,  and  placidly, 

A  youth  came  by,  whose  sunken  eyes 

Spake  of  a  load  of  miseries ; 

And  he,  arrested  like  the  twain, 

Stopp'd  to  listen  to  the  strain. 

Death  had  bow'd  the  youthful  head 
Of  his  bride  beloved,  his  bride  unwed : 
Her  marriage  robes  were  fitted  on. 
Her  fair  young  face  with  blushes  shone,  ^ 
When  the  destroyer  smote  her  low, 
And  left  the  lover  to  his  woe. 

And  these  three  listen'd  to  the  song, 
Silver-toned,  and  sweet,  and  strong. 
Which  that  child,  the  live-long  day. 
Chanted  to  itself  in  play: 
"When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall, 
But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all.** 

The  widow's  lips  impulsive  moved; 
The  mother's  grief,  though  unreproved, 
Soften'd,  as  her  trembling  tongue 
Repeated  what  the  infant  sung; 
And  the  sad  lover,  with  a  start, 
Conn'd  it  over  to  his  heart. 


24  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

And  though  the  child — if  child  it  were, 
And  not  a  seraph,  sitting  there — 
Was  seen  no  more,  the  sorrowing  three 
Went  on  their  way  resignedly. 
The  sonof  still  ringing  in  their  ears — 
Was  it  music  of  the  spheres? 

Who  shall  tein     They  did  not  know. 
But  in  the  midst  of  deepest  woe 
The  strain  recurr'd  when  sorrow  grew, 
To  warn  them,  and  console  them  too: 
"When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall. 
But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all.'' 


OvcL^^^HS^Oo  - 


THE   WATER   TARANTELLA.  25 


THE  WATER  TAEANTELLA. 

''The  condition  of  those  who  were  afflicted  with  Tarantism 
was  in  many  cases  united  with  so  great  a  sensibility  to  music, 
that  at  the  very  first  tone  of  their  favourite  melodies  they 
sprang  up  shouting  for  joy,  and  danced  on  without  intermission, 
until  they  sank  on  the  ground  exhausted,  and  almost  lifeless. 
Some  loved  to  hear  the  sound  of  water,  and  delighted  in  hearing 
of  gushing  springs,  and  rushing  cascades  and  streams." — Hecher's 
Epidemics  of  the  Middle  Ages.     The  Dancing  Mania. 

The  wind  blows  low  on  tliQ  fields  and  hedges, 
There  is  a  murmur  amid  the  sedges, 
A  low  sweet  sound  where  the  water  gushes 
Forth  from  the  grass  amid  the  rushes; 
It  is  a  streamlet  small  and  young, 
It  loves  to  dally  the  mosses  among, 
It  trickles  slowly, 
It  whispers  lowly, 

On  its  breast  the  thistle  drops  its  down. 
The  water-lily 
So  white  and  stilly- 
Sleeps  in  its  lap  till  its  leaves  grow  brown 

Dance,  poor  Eveleen,  dance  and  dream, — 
^oft  is  the  music,  and  fresh  the  stream. 


26  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

We  will  follow  thee  where  it  flows — 

It  leaves  the  sedges  dank  behind, 

And  on  its  fringe  a  willow  shows 

Its  silvery  leaflets  to  the  wind ; 

And  a  brook  comes  down  from  far  away, 

And  babbles  into  it  all  the  day; 

And  both  together  creep  through  meads 

Where  the  shy  plover  hides  and  feeds, 

And  then  away  through  fields  of  corn. 

Or  stretch  of  meadows  newly  shorn : 

Noiselessly  they  flow  and  clear 

By  open  wold  and  cover'd  brake; 

But  if  you  listen,  you  may  hear 

The  steady  music  which  they  make. 

Dance,  poor  Eveleen^  dance, — we  follow, 
Cer  field,  and  copse,  and  wild-wood  hollow. 

And  now  the  stream  begins  to  run 

Over  the  pebbles  in  its  bed. 

To  rumple  its  breast  and  glance  in  the  sun, 

And  curl  to  the  light  breeze  overhead. 

No  longer  loitering,  lingering,  calm, 

It  hurries  away  o'er  the  chafing  shingle, 

Humming  a  song,  singing  a  psalm. 

Through  the  orchard,  down  the  dingle. 

Pools  like  mirrors  adorn  its  breast. 

And  there  the  trout  and  the  minnow  rest; 

The  ringdove  sings  in  her  nest  alone 

The  tender  song  that  love  has  taught  her; 

And  the  redbreast  sits  on  the  boulder-stone. 

Washing  his  plumes  in  the  wimpling  water. 


THE   WATER   TARANTELLA.  27 

Brisker  now  let  tlie  music  sound; 
Dance,  Eveleen,  dance^ — we  follow  thee  ever, 
And  tread  the  ground  with  a  quick  rebound, 
Away,  away  vnth  the  rolling  river! 

Fed  by  its  tributary  rills 

From  distant  valleys  with  circling  hills, 

And  travelling  seaward,  merrily  brawling, 

Wild,  impassion'd,  rapid,  and  strong. 

With  voice  of  power  to  the  green  woods  calling. 

The  impetuous  river  dashes  along. 

And  is  sweeping,  leaping,  through  the  meadows 

Almost  as  fast  as  the  driving  shadows 

Of  clouds  that  fly  before  the  wind, 

Down  to  the  chasmy  precipices, 

There  to  burst  in  foaming  fall: — 

It  bursts,  it  thunders,  it  roars,  it  hisses, 

An  iris  is  its  coronal; 

And  the  pendulous  trees  above  it  shiver. 

Bathed  by  the  rain  of  that  rampant  river. 

So  dance,  fair  Eveleen,  faster,  faster ; 
Unloose  thy  zone,  thy  locks  untwine; — 
Thy  bosom,  no  more  like  the  alabaster, 
Is  flusKd,  and  heated,  and  red  like  wine; 
Thy  pulse  is  beating,  thy  blood  is  heating 
Thy  lips  are  open,  thine  eyeballs  shine. 

And  now  the  river  spends  its  wrath. 
The  music  sinks,  the  winds  blow  low; 
Its  bosom  broad  is  a  nation's  path — 
Smooth  and  pleasant  is  its  flow. 


28  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

A  boat  shoots  by  with  its  rowers  trim, 
A  ferryman  plies  his  lazy  oar; 
And  miles  adown,  in  the  distance  dim, 
There  stands  a  city  on  the  shore. 

£t/  corn-fields  yellow,  hy  meadows  green, 
And  stately  gardens,  we  advance; 
Still  we  follow  theCy  Eveleen — 
Gentle,  gentler,  he  thy  dance. 

Behold,  upon  a  grassy  lawn, 

Sloped  smoothly  downwards  to  the  brink, 

With  large  soft  eyes,  a  dapple  fiiwn 

Stoops  to  the  lucid  wave  to  drink; 

And,  lo!  an  avenue  of  oak, 

"Whose  wrinkled  stems,  of  giant  girth, 

Have  stood  unarm'd  the  winters  stroke 

For  thrice  a  century,  firm  in  earth, 

Their  boughs  o'ertopp'd  by  the  turrets  hoary 

Of  a  mansion  old  and  famed  in  story. 

They  pass,  all  pass, 

As  in  magic  glass, 

And  still  we  trace  the  placid  stream — 

Castle  and  tower, 

And  park  and  hower ; 

Dance,  poor  Eveleen,  dance  and  dream, 

A  hundred  ships  are  in  the  river. 

Their  tall  masts  point  to  a  clear  blue  sky, 

Their  sails  are  furl'd,  their  pennants  curl'd. 


THE   WATER   TARANTELLA.  29 

To  the  sweet  west  wind  that  wantons  by; 

And  every  flag,  emblazon'd  fair, 

Flaps  at  its  will  on  the  sunny  air. 

There  is  a  peal  of  Sabbath  bells, 

Over  the  river's  breast  it  swells; 

The  tall  proud  steeples  look  calmly  down 

On  the  quiet  houses  of  the  town; 

'Tis  a  day  of  love,  of  rest,  of  peace — 

Eveleen,  the  song  must  cease. 

Gently,  Eveleen,  gently  rest, 

Softly  on  thy  pilloio  sleep; 

The  fit  is  o'er,  thy  heaving  breast 

Will  calm  itself  in  slumber  deep; 

ThovJst  danced,  poor  m^aid,  the  tarantelle, 

Thoibst  danced  it  long  and  danced  it  well; 

Thov!st  trod  the  maze,  and  traced  the  shore; 

Thou  shalt  he  heaVd  for  evermore. 


30  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  EARTH  AND  THE  STARS. 

Said  the  Earth  to  the  Stars — "  Oh  my  sisters, 
Fellow-travellers  through  this  dread  immensity, 
Send  a  voice  to  my  spirit  and  declare, 
If,  serenely  as  ye  smile  on  me,  and  fair, 

Ye  are  dwellings  for  all  miseries,  like  me? 

"  Oh  tell  me  if  in  you,  my  glorious  sisters, 
Kules  a  tyrant  like  the  one  enthroned  here? 
If  Death  has  ever  enter'd  in  your  climes, 
And  Suffering,  and  Calamity,  and  Crimes 

Ever  rob  you  of  the  children  that  you  rear? 

"  Oh  tell  me  if  in  you,  my  myriad  sisters. 
The  weak  are  ever  trampled  by  the  strong  ? 
If  Malice,  and  Intolerance,  and  Hate, 
And  Warfare,  and  Ambition  to  be  great, 

Ever  cause  the  Kight  to  suffer  from  the  Wrong? 

"Oh  tell  me,  silent  sisters,  are  ye  happy? 

Are  the  multitudes  that  live  beneath  your  skies. 
Full  of  knowledge,  unaccursed  by  such  a  ban 
As  man  has  ever  issued  against  man  ? 

Are  they  happy,  are  they  loving,  are  they  wise?" 


THE  EARTH  AND  THE  STARS.  31 

Said  the  Stars  to  the  Earth — "Oh  mournful  sister, 
HoUing  calmly  through  the  calm  infinity, 

We  have  roll'd  for  countless  ages  on  our  track, 
Ever  onward — pressing  onward — never  back; — 

There  is  progress  both  for  us  and  for  thee. 

"Thou  wilt  make,  oh  thou  foolish  little  sister, 
The  full  cycle  of  thy  glory  in  thy  time ; 
We  are  rolling  on  in  ours  for  evermore ; — 
Look  not  backward — see  Eternity  before, 

And  free  thyself  of  Sorrow  and  of  Crime. 

"  God,  who  made  thee,  never  meant  thee,  mournful 
sister, 
To  be  fill'd  with  sin  and  grief  eternally ; 

And  the  children  that  are  born  upon  thy  breast 
Shall,  in  fulness  of  their  destiny,  be  blest : — 
There  is  Progress  for  the  Stars  and  for  Thee." 


— -^-i=5?^5Pfi^^S^fc:..-' — 


VOICES   FKOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  YOUNG  ExVETH. 

"The  earth  gives  signs  of  age,  disease,  and  fickleness.  It 
yields  its  increase  grudgingly,  and  demands  an  exorbitant  fee 
beforehand,  in  toil  and  sweat  from  the  husbandman.  It  has  ill 
turns  or  paroxysms,  when  it  rouses  the  ocean  into  a  tempest, 
and  makes  sport  of  navies,  strewing  the  shore  with  the  wrecks 
and  carcases  of  men.  It  rocks  a  continent  or  sinks  an  island  ; 
shaking  massive  cities  into  countless  fragments,  and  burying  its 
wretched  inhabitants  in  indiscriminate  ruin  ;  anon  it  writhes 
and  groans  in  mortal  agony,  and  finds  relief  only  by  disgorging 
its  fiery  bowels,  burying  cities  and  villages  in  burning  graves. 
The  earth  is  old  and  feeble,  and  must  needs  groan  on  until 
it  renews  its  prime." — Miseries  and  Liabilities  of  the  present  Life. 

Old  Eartli  %  Young  Earth  ! — though  myriad  years, 

Since  Time's  primeval  morn, 
She  may  have  bloom'd  amid  the  spheres 

Before  a  man  was  born  1 


Still  young ;  though  race  succeeding  race 
Have  trod  her  breast  sublime, 

And  flourish'd  in  their  pride  of  place 
Their  full  allotted  time, — 

Then  pass'd  away,  like  daily  things,  ~ 

!Nor  left  a  trace  behind 
To  tell  how  many  thousand  Springs 

They  lived  before  mankind. 


THE   TOUNG   EARTH.  33 

We,  who  for  threescore  years  and  ten 

Toil  deathwards  from  our  birth, 
Deem  sixty  centuries  of  men 

A  ripe  old  age  for  Eartk 

But  all  our  deeds,  though  back  we  look 

"With  yearning  keen  and  lond, 
Fill  but  a  page  :  the  mighty  book 

Lies  infinite  beyond. 

She  is  not  old,  or  waxing  cold, 

But  vigorous  as  of  yore, 
When  'mid  her  kindred  globes  she  rolFd, 

Exulting  evermore. 

Six  thousand  years  of  human  strife 

Are  little  in  the  sum ; 
A  morning  added  to  her  life, 

And  noonday  yet  to  come. 

Six  thousand  years!  what  have  they  brought, 

O,  poor  ephemeral  man  ? 
Oo,  reckon  centuries  by  thought, 

Thou'lt  find  them  but  a  span. 

Go  reckon  time  by  progress  made, 

And  lo!  what  ages  pass. 
Swift  as  the  transitory  shade 

Of  clouds  upon  the  grass. 

D 


34  VOICfES   FROM   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Six  thousand  years !   and  what  are  they  ? 

A  cycle  scarce  begun ; 
The  fragment  of  a  grander  day 

Unmeasured  by  the  sun ; 

Too  short  to  purify  the  sight 

Of  souls  in  Error  blind ; 
Too  short  to  show  the  healing  light 

Of  Love  to  all  mankind, 

Eor  lo  I   the  lesson  has  heen  read 

In  every  clime  and  tongue ; 
The  Sea  has  breathed  it  from  her  bed^ 

And  Earth  and  Air  have  sung; 

The  Sun  has  beam'd  it  from  above 

To  all  his  worlds  around ; 
The  stars  have  preach'd  that  God  i&  Love  . 

But  answer  never  found. 


The  generations  cold  and  dark 
Have  lived  and  passed  away, 

And  never  caught  the  faintest  spark 
Of  Love's  eternal  ray. 

The  myriads,  seeking  to  create 

An  idol  to  adore, 
Have  made  their  God  a  God  of  Hate, 

And  worshipp'd  him  with  gore. 


THE   YOUNG   EARTH.  35 

And  living  multitudes  have  heard 

That  Love  is  Nature's  plan, 
Yet  shut  their  souls  against  the  Word 

That  teaches  love  to  man. 

But  there  is  progress  in  the  spheres, 

The  glorious  Earth  is  young ; 
The  seed  has  lain  six  thousand  years, 

The  tender  shoots  have  sprung. 

She  is  not  old  but  young  and  fair; 

And  marching  to  her  prime, 
Her  teeming  bosom  yet  shall  bear 

The  harvest  of  her  time. 


And  generations  thought-endued — 

Each  wiser  than  the  last, 
Shall  crowd,  in  one  short  year  the  good 

Of  centuries  of  the  past ; — 

Shall,  living,  aid  by  loving  deeds 

The  truths  for  which  we  pine, 
And,  dying,  sow  the  fruitful  seeds 

Of  impulse  more  divine. 

The  struggle,  long  and  sorely  fought, 

Embitter'd  as  it  spread, 
For  simplest  rights — free  hand,  free  thought. 

And  sustenance  of  bread ; 
D  2 


36  VOICES   FROM  THE   MOUNTAINS. 

The  struggle  of  the  righteous  weak 
Against  the  unrighteous  strong; 

Of  Justice  firm,  though  mild  and  meek, 
Against  oppressive  Wrong — 

Draws  in,  and  must  be  ended  yet ; — 

It  ripens  to  its  hour : 
The  mighty  combatants  have  met ; 

And  Truth  has  challens^ed  Power. 


Young  Earth ! — her  sad  six  thousand  years, 

Now  passing  swift  away. 
Are  but  her  infancy  of  tears— 

The  dawn  before  the  day. 


•-c^\SXl5/>:>- 


THE   GOtDEN  MADNESS. 


37 


THE  GOLDEN  MADNESS. 

By  the  road-side  there  sat  an  aged  man, 

Who  all  day  long,  from  dawn  into  the  night, 

Counted  with  weary  fingers  heaps  of  stones. 

His  red  eyes  dropp'd  with  rheum,  his  yellow  hands 

Trembled  with  palsy,  his  pale  sunken  cheeks 

Were  mark'd  with  deep  and  venerable  seams, 

His  flat  bald  brow  was  ever  bent  to  earth. 

His  few  grey  hairs  waved  to  the  passing  winds. 

His  straggling  teeth,  blacken'd  and  carious. 

Rattled  and  tumbled  from  his  bloodless  gums; — 

I  spake  him  kindly,  saying,  "Why  this  toil 

At  task  like  this,  cracking  thy  rotten  bones, 

To  gain  nor  health,  nor  recompense,  nor  thanks?" 

He  made  no  answer,  but  went  coimting  on, 
Mumbling  and  muttering  slowly  to  himself. 
Chinking  the  stones  with  melancholy  sound, 
Piece  after  piece ;  looking  nor  right  nor  left, 
Nor  upwards,  but  aye  down  upon  the  heap. 

I  asked  again,  "What  is  it  that  thou  dost, 
Wasting  the  remnant  of  thy  days  in  toil, 
Without  fruition  to  thyself  or  kind. 
As  earnestly  as  if  these  stones  were  gold. 
And  all  thine  own  to  spend  and  to  enjoy  1" 


38  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

He  look'd  upon  me  with  a  vacant  eye, 
And  stopp'd  not  in  his  task.     " Gold!  didst  thou  say? 
They  are  gold — precious,  ready-coin'd  and  pure, 
And  all  mine  own  to  spend  and  to  enjoy. 
When  I  have  counted  them.     So,  get  thee  gone. 
Unless  thou  art  a  borrower  or  a  thief." 
And  aye  he  chink'd  the  flints  and  chips  of  slate, 
One  after  one,  muttering  their  numbers  o'er, 
At  every  hundred  stopping  for  a  while 
To  rub  his  withered  palms,  and  eye  the  heap 
With  idiot  happiness,  ere  he  resumed. 

There  came  a  stranger  by  the  way.     I  ask'd 
If  he  knew  aught  of  this  forlorn  old  man. 
"  Eight  well,"  he  said ;    "  the  creature  is  insane, 
And  hath  been  ever  since  he  had  a  beard. 
He  first  went  mad  for  greediness  of  gold." 

"Know  you  his  story?"     "Perfectly,"  said  he. 
"Look  how  he  counts  his  miserable  flints 
And  bits  of  slate.     Twelve  mortal  hours  each  day 
He  sits  at  work,  summer  and  winter  both ; 
'Mid  storm  or  sunshine,  heat  or  nipping  frost, 
He   counts  and   counts  j   and   since  his   limbs  were 

young, 
Till  now  that  he  is  crook'd  and  stifien'd  old, 
He  hath  not  miss'd  a  day.     The  silly  wretch 
Believes  each  stone  a  lump  of  shining  gold, 
And  that  he  made  a  bargain  with  the  fiend, 
That  if  he'd  count  one  thousand  million  coins 
Of  minted  gold,  audibly,  one  by  one, 
The  gold  should  be  his  own  the  very  hour 


I 


THE   GOLDEN   MADNESS.  39 


When  he  had  told  the  thousand  millionth  piece ; 

Provided  always,  as  such  bargains  go, 

The  fiend  should  have  his  soul  in  recompense, 

"Unskilled  in  figures,  but  brimful  of  greed. 
He  chuckled  at  his  bargain,  and  began ; 
And  for  a  year  reckon'd  with  hopeful  heart 
At  last  a  glimpse  of  light  broke  on  his  sense, 
And  show'd  the  fool  that  millions — quickly  said — 
Were  not  so  quickly  counted  as  he  thought. 
But  still  he  plies  his  melancholy  task. 
Dreaming  of  boundless  wealth  and  curbless  power, 
And  slavish  worship  from  his  fellow-men. 

"If  he  could  reckon  fifty  thousand  stones 
Daily,  and  miss  no  day  in  all  the  year, 
'Twould  take  him  five-and-fifty  years  of  life 
To  reach  the  awful  millions  he  desires. 
He  has  been  fifty  of  these  years  or  more 
Feeding  his  coward  soul  with  this  conceit, 
Exposed  to  every  blast,  starved,  wretched,  old,     \ 
Toothless,  and  clothed  with  rags  and  squalidness, 
He  eyes  his  fancied  treasure  with  delight, 
And  thinks  to  cheat  the  devil  at  the  last. 

"  Look  at  his  drivelling  lips,  his  bloodshot  eyes, 
His  trembling  hands,  his  loose  and  yellow  skin, 
His  flimsy  rottenness,  and  own  with  me 
That  this  man's  madness,  though  a  piteous  thing, 
Deserves  no  pity,  for  the  avarice 
So  mean  and  filthy  that  was  cause  of  it." 
***** 


40  VOICES   FKOM    THE  MOUNTAINS. 

I  gazed  once  more  upon  his  wrinkled  face, 
Vacant  with  idiotcy,  and  went  my  way 
Fill'd  with  disgust  and  sorrow,  for  I  deeni'd 
That  his  great  lunacy  was  but  a  type 
Of  many  a  smaller  madness  as  abject, 
That  daily  takes  possession  of  men's  hearts 
And  blinds  them  to  the  uses  of  their  life. 

Poor  fool !   he  gathers  stones — they  gather  gold, 
With    toil    and    moil,   thick   sweat   and   grovelling 

thought. 
He  Las  his  flints,  and  they  acquire  their  coin. 
And  who's  the  wiser?     Neither  he  nor  they. 


41 


THE  OUT-COMEE  AND  THE  IN-GOER. 

For  Ernest  was  a  palace  built, 

A  palace  beautiful  to  see ; 
Marble-porch'd  and  cedar-chamber  d, 

Hung  with  damask  drapery; 
Boss'd  with  ornaments  of  silver, 

Interlaid  with  gems  and  gold ; 
Fill'd  with  carvings,  from  cathedrals 

Hescued  in  the  days  of  old ; 
Eloquent  with  books  and  picturos, 

All  that  luxury  could  afford ; 
Warm  with  statues  that  Pygmalion 

Might  have  fashion'd  and  adored. 
In  his  forest  glades  and  vistas 

Lovely  were  the  light  and  gloom; 
Fountains  sparkled  in  his  gardens, 

And  exotics  breathed  perfume. 


With  him  to  that  lordly  palace 

Went  the  friend  who  loved  him  best, 
In  good  fortune  unexalted. 

In  misfortune  undepressed. 
Little  reck'd  that  friend  of  grandeur; 

Dearer  far  to  him  than  all 
Wealth  could  offer,  were  the  rosebuds 

Growing  on  the  garden  wall. 


i2  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Dearer  far  were  simple  pleasures, 

And  the  charms  by  Nature  spread, 
Than  all  gauds  of  power  and  splendour 

Heap'd  upon  their  favourite's  head. 
Plain  was  he  in  speech  and  raiment. 

Humble-minded,  and  imbued 
With  a  daily  love  of  virtue, 

And  a  daily  gratitude. 


Ere  these  palace-halls  received  them, 

Steadfast  was  the  faith  they  bore ; 
"No  estrangement  came  between  them, 

Darkening  their  study-door. 
Ernest  in  his  friend's  communion 

Loved  himself  and  all  his  kind, 
Cherishing  a  loving  nature, 

Tutor'd  by  a  happy  mind  ; 
Rich  and  poor  were  equal  brothers 

In  that  heart,  too  pure  to  hold 
Pride  of  lineage  or  station, 

Or  the  vanity  of  gold. 
Never  chanced  it,  in  that  season. 

That  he  form'd  a  thought  unjust 
Of  the  meanest  fellow-mortal, 

Eashion'd  of  a  common  dust. 


But  his  palace  somewhat  changed  him; 

Rosebuds  gather  d — early  walks 
Sunset  roamings — nightly  musings — 

Mystic  philosophic  talks — 


THE  OUT-COMER  AND  THE  IN- GOER. 

Nothing  as  of  old  engross'd  him ; 

And  the  promptings  of  his  friend 
Fell  upon  his  sated  spirit, 

Not  to  guide  him,  but  oiSend. 
Daily  grew  the  chilling  coolness, 

Till,  ere  many  months  had  flown, 
Ernest  shut  his  door  upon  him. 

And  resolved  to  live  alone : 
And  retreating  'mid  his  splendour, 

Hooted  out  all  love  he  bore 
For  that  friend,  so  true,  so  noble, 

Banish' d,  lost  for  evermore. 

Scarcely  had  his  friend  departed, 

Pain'd  and  pensive,  but  resign'd, 
When  another  sought  the  palace 

More  accordant  to  his  mind. 
He  in  Ernest's  lordly  chambers 

Sat,  and  call'd  him  first  of  men ; 
Praised  his  pictures  and  his  statues, 

Flatter'd  him  with  tongue  and  pen ; 
Press'd  the  milk  of  human  kindness 

From  his  bosom  cold  and  sere, 
Taught  him  to  be  harsh  and  cruel, 

Proud,  disdainful,  and  austere ; 
Fill'd  him  up  with  vain  inflation, 

And  contempt  for  meaner  clay. 
As  if  lie  were  born  to  govern, 

It  to  flatter  and  obey. 


43 


Sometimes  on  his  lonely  pillow. 

When  his  conscience  show'd  the  truth. 


44.  VOICES   FKOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

He  deplored  his  blind  estrangement 

From  the  comrade  of  his  youth ; 
But  the  daylight  chill'd  the  current 

Of  that  feeling,  and  it  froze 
Hard  enough  to  bear  the  burden 

Of  such  memories  as  those. 
And  all  day,  in  gloomy  grandeur, 

In  his  corridors  and  halls, 
Looking  at  his  old  escutcheons, 

And  the  portraits  on  the  walls. 
He  and  his  companion  wander' d, 

Calm  of  eye,  with  lips  upcurl'd. 
Aliens  to  the  worth  and  goodness, 

And  the  beauty  of  the  world. 


Wintry  winds  of  human  anguish. 

Blowing  round  them  day  and  night, 
Never  moved  them — never  clouded 

Their  serenity  of  light. 
They  were  made  of  choice  material. 

Tempest-proof,  from  lightning  free. 
And  the  world,  its  joys  and  sorrows. 

Was  to  them  a  shipless  sea, 
Dark,  unfathomable,  trackless. 

Far  beyond  their  care  or  ken. 
Save  at  times,  when  ostentation 

Brought  them  to  the  gaze  of  men. 
But  ev'n  this  was  painful  to  them — 

Man  was  cold,  and  earth  was  wide  ; 
They  preferred  the  warm  seclusion 

Of  their  apathy  and  pride. 


THE   OUT-COMER  AND   THE   IN-GOER. 


45 


Who  was  he,  the  first  out-goer  ? 

He  was  Human  Sympathy  ; 
And  the  in-comer,  that  displaced  him  1 

He  was  Worldly  Vanity. 
With  the  first  Religion  vanish'd, 

Charity,  and  Faith  in  Man, 
And  the  genial  Love  of  Nature, 

Boundless  as  Creation's  plan. 
With  the  second  enter'd  Hatred 

Harsh  Intolerance,  and  Scorn. 
Ernest,  in  his  life's  cold  evening 

Saw  the  error  of  his  morn — 
Saw  his  error  and  deplored  it. 

And  upon  his  death-bed  lain, 
Pray'd  for  mercy,  while  confessing, 

Dying,  he  had  lived  in  vain. 


46  VOICES   FHOM   THE  MOUNTAINS. 


THE  DEOP  OF  AMBROSIA. 

"Whither  away?  whither  away, 

With  thine  eyes  through  the  distance  looking  so 

keen? 
The  road  is  narrow,  and  is  not  long, 
And  if  thou  wouldst  but  awhile  delay, 
I  would  show  thee  sights  thou  hast  not  seen  ; 
And  thou  shouldst  hear  a  voice  of  song, 
And  thou  shouldst  learn  of  things  unknown, 
And  live  a  double  and  fuller  life. 
Whither  away?     I  prithee  stay, — 
There  are  angels  near ;  thou  rt  not  alone — 
The  very  air  is  with  beauty  rife. 
The  night  is  lovely,  fair  is  the  day, 
Why  this  hurry  to  travel  away. 
To  close  thy  journey,  to  shut  thy  book? 
Why  at  the  end  wilt  thou  ever  look? 
Why  on  the  tide  wilt  thou  ever  think, 
And  neglect  the  flow'rets  on  the  brink  ? " 

He  said,  in  answer  to  my  cries, 

"  Let  me  alone,  nor  vex  my  soul ; 

I've  set  my  mind  on  a  glittering  prize 

That  I  see  midway  towards  the  goal. 

It  shines,  'mid  cloud  on  the  mountain-top, 

A  bright,  divine,  ambrosial  drop. 


THE   DROP   OF  AMBROSIA.  47 

Sad,  till  I  grasp  it,  tlie  time  appears; 

Into  hours  the  weeks  I'd  pack, 

Compress  the  lingering,  drawling  years 

To  months,  and  never  wish  them  back. 

Why  should  I  stay]     What  boots  delay? 

What  do  I  care  for  an  angel's  song] 

For  the  stars  of  night,  or  the  flowers  of  day, 

When  lingering  would  the  hours  prolong] 

Let  me  alone  :  my  mind  and  heart 

Are  full  of  a  joy  thou  canst  not  see, 

And  each  impediment  is  pain ; 

Thy  very  talk  is  grief  to  me. 

Let  me  away.     Why  should  I  stay, 

Wasting  time  by  answering  thee?" 


"Already,"  said  I,  "thy  prime  is  past, 
Thy  flush  of  youth,  thy  warmth  of  noon  ; 
And  many  delights  which  the  sunshine  cast 
Must  wither  away  beneath  the  moon. 
The  path  thou  goest  is  short  at  best ; 
And  between  thine  eyes  and  the  bliss  they  crave, 
To  trip  thy  feet  in  their  course  so  fleet. 
May  there  not  be  an  open  grave  ? 
Why  wilt  thou  hurry  towards  the  end  ? 
There  are  pleasant  fields  on  the  highway-side, 
Bowers  whence  the  hymns  of  Love  ascend, 
And  rivers  rolling  a  joyous  tide, 
In  which  to  lave  the  weary  limbs 
Is  bliss  beyond  the  ambrosial  drop 
Which,  far  away,  'mid  storm  and  dark, 
Thou  seest  upon  the  mountain -top. 


48  VOICES   FKOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Straight  is  tlie  path  to  the  yawning  tomb; 

But  we  may  linger  on  the  road, 

And  turn  to  the  left,  and  turn  to  the  right, 

To  enjoy  the  kindly  gifts  of  God. 

I  would  not  live  my  life  so  soon ; 

I  would  not  spend  it  on  one  desire ; 

Nor  in  such  fearful  haste  as  thine 

Exhaust  the  fuel  of  its  fire." 

Yain  was  my  speech  :  he  closed  his  ears — 

Straight  on  he  rush'd,  nor  look'd  behind. 

He  saw  afar  his  glittering  star, 

The  prize  for  which  his  spirit  pined. 

On  every  side  were  stars  as  fair — 

Fairer  I  thought ;  and  drops  of  joy, 

Divinest  given  to  mortal  man, 

To  cheer  of  his  life  the  little  span, 

And  sanctify  its  right  employ. 

He  saw  them  not,  but  ran  his  race 

With  a  speed  that  passion  alone  could  give  j; 

Grew  hard  and  grey  on  his  narrow  way, 

And  spent  his  life  ere  he  learn'd  to  live. 

And  I  saw  before  he  reach'd  his  prize. 

That  he  sunk  in  the  grave  before  my  eyes. 


49 


NOW. 

The  venerable  Past  is  past ; 

'Tis  dark,  and  shines  not  in  the  ray  : 
'Twas  good,  no  doubt — ^'tis  gone  at  last — 

There  dawns  another  day. 
Why  should  we  sit  where  ivies  creep, 
And  shroud  ourselves  in  charnels  deep ; 
Or  the  world's  Yesterdays  deplore, 
'Mid  crumbling  ruins,  mossy  hoar  ? 
Why  should  we  see  with  dead  men's  eyes, 

Looking  at  Was  from  morn  to  night, 
When  the  beauteous  Now,  the  divine  To  Be, 

Woo  with  their  charms  our  living  sight  1 
Why  should  we  hear  but  echoes  dull, 
When  the  world  of  sound,  so  beautiful, 

Will  give  us  music  of  our  own? 
Why  in  the  darkness  will  we  grope. 
When  the  sun,  in  heaven's  resplendent  cope 

Shines  as  bright  as  ever  it  shone  ? 

Abraham  saw  no  brighter  stars 

Than  those  which  burn  for  thee  and  me. 
When  Homer  heard  the  lark's  sweet  song. 

Or  night-bird's  lovelier  melody. 
They  were  such  sounds  as  Shakspeare  heard, 
Or  Chaucer,  when  he  bless'd  the  bird ; 
£ 


50  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Siicli  lovely  sounds  as  we  can  hear ; — 

Great  Plato  saw  the  vernal  year 

Send  forth  its  tender  flowers  and  shoots, 

And  luscious  autumn  pour  its  fruits ; 

And  we  can  see  the  lilies  blow, 

The  corn-fields  wave,  the  rivers  flow  : 

For  us  all  bounties  of  the  earth, 

For  us  its  wisdom,  love,  and  mirth. 

If  we  daily  walk  in  the  sight  of  God, 

And  prize  the  gifts  He  has  bestow'd. 


We  will  not  dwell  amid  the  graves, 

Nor  in  dim  twilights  sit  alone, 
To  gaze  at  moulder'd  architraves. 

Or  plinths  and  columns  overthrown ; 
We  will  not  only  see  the  light 

Through  painted  windows,  cobwebb'd  o'er, 
Nor  know  the  beauty  of  the  night, 

Save  by  the  moonbeam  on  the  floor : 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  sun, 

Or  moon,  or  stars,  our  hearts  shall  glow ; 
We'll  look  at  nature  face  to  face. 

And  we  shall  love  because  we  know. 
The  present  needs  us.     Every  age 
Bequeaths  the  next,  for  heritage, 
No  lazy  luxury  or  delight. 
But  strenuous  labour  for  the  right ; 
For  Now,  the  child  and  sire  of  Time, 

Demands  the  deeds  of  earnest  men, 
To  make  it  better  than  the  Past, 

And  stretch  the  circle  of  its  ken. 


NOW.  51 

Now  is  a  fact  that  men  deplore, 
Though  it  might  bless  them  evermore, 
Would  they  but  fashion  it  aright : 
'Tis  ever  new,  'tis  ever  bright. 

Time  nor  Eternity  hath  seen 
A  repetition  of  delight 

In  all  its  phases  :  ne'er  hath  been 
For  men  or  angels  that  which  is  ; 

And  that  which  is,  hath  ceased  to  be 
Ere  we  have  breathed  it,  and  its  place 

Is  lost  in  the  Eternity. 
But  Now  is  ever  good  and  fair, 
Of  the  Infimtude  the  heir, 
And  we  of  it.     So  let  us  live, 
That  from  the  Past  we  may  receive 
Light  for  the  Now ;  from  Now  a  joy 
That  Fate  nor  Time  shall  e'er  destroy. 


-C>^!XC!^XC^  :^ 


52  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  VISION  OF  MOCKERY. 

All  happy  things  are  earnest.     Once  I  roam'd 
Id  England,  or  in  Dream-land,  through  the  streets 
Of  a  huge,  buzzing,  dense  metropolis. 
Slowly,  in  teeming  thoroughfares,  I  walk'd, 
One  of  the  people,  hearing  with  their  ears. 
Beholding  with  their  eyes,  and  in  their  thought 
Divining,  till  my  soul  was  fill'd  with  grief 
At  all  that  I  beheld,  and  felt,  and  knew. 

It  was  a  gibing,  laughing,  sneering  crowd, 
Devoid  of  truth,  faith,  love,  and  earnestness, 
Except  a  horrid  earne^ness  for  gain ; 
Fierce  love  of  lucre,  which  if  one  had  not, 
He  was  despised  and  trodden  down  of  men  : 
Which  if  one  had,  he  was  adored  of  all, 
Placed  on  a  pinnacle  to  be  admired, 
Flatter'd,  and  fill'd  with  other  rich  men's  gifts ; 
His  overflowing  fulness  made  more  lull, 
His  vulgarness  thought  choice  gentility, 
His  vices  Virtues,  and  his  prejudice 
Wisdom  innate,  his  coarse  words  oracles, 
And  he  a  chief  and  model  of  mankind. 

But  for  all  else  than  wealth  these  swarming  crowds 
Had  slight  regard;  and  when  their  daily  toil 


THE   VISION   OF   MOCKERY  53 

[n  search  of  it  was  done,  and  time  hung  loose, 
rhey  gather'd  in  their  clubs  and  theatres, 
[n  market-place,  or  corner  of  the  streets, 
And  mock'd  and  gibed — and  held  the  best  buffoon 
The  wisest  man,  so  he  but  made  them  laugh. 
N'othing  was  holy  to  these  wretched  crowds, 
But  all  things  food  for  jest  and  ribald  wit, 
Caricature,  lampoon,  and  mockery. 

I  said  to  one,  "Is  this  the  end  of  life? 
Is  there  no  reverence  for  God  or  man  *?" 
He  turn'd  and  look'd,  and,  with  a  well-bred  stare, 
Eyed  me  askance:  **What  would  you  have  ?"  quoth 

he ; 
"We  keep  our  reverence  for  sabbath-days. 
And  look  demure  the  seventh  part  of  our  time  ; 
[f  for  six  days  we  toil,  six  nights  we  laugh, 
And  who  shall  blame  us  ?     What  new  bore  art  thou, 
From  lands  hyperborean,  that  canst  think 
Laughter  a  crime?" — '^Nay,"  I  replied,  "not  so; 
Laughter  is  virtuous,  if  there  be  a  cause  : 
But  mockery  !" — Thereat  he  smiled  again. 
Arching  his  eyebrows,  that  his  eyes,  full-stretch'J, 
Might  take  the  measure  of  my  littleness. 
And  disappear'd  amid  the  gathering  throng. 

I  spake  no  more,  but  wander'd  wearily  on, 
Until  I  reach'd  a  wide  and  crowded  mart, 
Where  one,  a  mild  and  venerable  man, 
Addressed  the  multitude  with  slow,  clear  voice. 
Few  gave  him  audience,  but  he  heeded  not, 
And  spoke  his  thought,  unmindful  of  the  jeers 


54  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Of  would-be  wits  and  shallow  mountebanks, 
IScoffers  and  punsters,  and  obese  dull  clowns. 

"Yain  and  unhappy  multitudes,"  he  said, 
"That  gibe  and  sneer  at  every  holy  thing; — 
Is  this  your  law  of  life  1     Is  this  the  end  1 
Lo  !  ye  have  souls  immortal  and  sublime. 
To  be  made  infinite  in  love  and  light. 
And  heavenly  knowledge,  if  ye  will  but  ope 
The  inner  fountains  and  the  inner  eyes, 
And  see  the  deep  and  full  significance, 
The  worth  and  wherefore  of  the  life  of  man. 

"  Is  it  not  sad,  O  myriad,  myriad  souls, 
Infinite  and  immortal  as  ye  are, 
That  ye  will  make  your  own  infinity 
A  retrogression  1     Immortality, 
Change  of  vile  vesture  for  a  viler  still  ? 
That  ye  will  circle  with  the  feculent  clay 
Your  life-light  heavenly  clear,  until  it  burn 
No  fairer,  to  the  outward  world,  than  foul, 
Thick  exhalations  of  a  stagnant  fen  1 
Is  it  not  sad,  that  germs  which  should  expand 
Even  here,  to  trees  of  bole  magnificent. 
Should  rot  and  perish  in  unsavoury  mire ; 
Or,  ere  they  rot,  be  eaten  up  by  swine, — 
Swine  of  ill  passion,  selfishness,  and  lust  1 
Is  it  not  sad — a  thing  for  bitter  tears — 
Unless  for  hope,  and  efforts  made  more  strong 
By  seeming  hopelessness — ^that  men  should  live 
And  never  know  the  meaning  of  their  life  1 
That  they  should  die,  and  never  know  that  death 


I 


THE   VISION   OF   MOCKERY. 


Is  change,  not  ceasing  1  and  that  life  and  death 
Are  ebb  and  flow  of  an  eternal  tide, 
In  which  the  ripple  may  become  a  wave, 
The  wave  a  sea,  the  sea  a  universe  ? 

"  Alas  !  poor  crowds,  self-quench' d,  self-sacrificed, 
Why  will  ye  crawl,  when  ye  might  walk  erect  1 
Why  will  ye  grovel,  when  ye  might  aspire? 
Why  will  ye  don  foul  rags,  when  ye  might  wear 
Angelic  vestments  1     Why  co-herd  with  beasts. 
And  graze  in  fields,  or  wallow  in  the  mire, 
When  ye  might  feed  on  manna  dropp'd  from  heaven?" 

Thereat  a  listener  in  the  crowd  exclaimed — 
One  with  a  portly  paunch,  and  large  round  face, 
And  little  twinkling  eyes, — "  You  waste  your  words  : 
Why  do  you  preach  to  us  of  things  like  these. 
Things  transcendental  and  absurdly  wise  ? 
The  earth  is  man's  ;  man  is  the  earth's.     Forget 
These  idle  dreams,  and  eat,  and  drink,  and  laugh, 
And  speculate,  and  hoard  a  heap  of  gold ; 
And  so  be  one  of  us,  that  as  you  live, 
You  may  enjoy  ;  and  when  you  die,  die  well. 
Leaving  plump  money-bags  to  bless  your  sons." 
And  all  the  people  laugh'd,  and  cried,  "Hear  !  hear  1" 
With  loud  applause,  and  shouts  vociferous. 
But  still  the  orator  undaunted  stood. 
Though  laughter  sputter'd  round  him ;  and  vain  scofifs, 
Like  muddy  showerlets,  fell  on  every  side  ; 
And  more  he  would  have  said,  but  that  a  cry 
Of  one  in  haste,  and  in  great  stress  of  speech, 
Made  interruption  :  "  Lo !  the  children  die ! — 


56  VOICES   FEOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

The  little  children,  and  you  heed  them  not ! 
The  children  die  :  they  perish,  body  and  soul, 
In  pestilent  lanes,  and  rotting  alleys  vile  ; 
Thousands  on  thousands,  more  than  eyes  can  count. 
God's  sun  shines  on  them,  but  they  never  heard 
His  name  who  made  it  :  the  fair  world  they  tread 
Is  foul  to  them,  that  never  saw  the  fields. 
The   green   trees,    the   great    mountains,    the    bright 

streams. 
Or  knew  that  God,  who  fashion' d  all  things,  loves 
All  he  has  made,  and  children  most  of  all. 
The  purest  from  his  hand.     Why  should  they  die  ? 
For  life  in  ignorance  is  very  death. 
Some  of  them  toil,  and  waste  their  tender  limbs 
In  mills,  or  mines,  from  morn  till  past  the  night  : 
Machines  of  flesh,  too  sorely  overwrought 
To  reach  maturity  ere  they  grow  old. 
Some  of  them  toil  not,  but  by  night  and  day 
Prowl  in  the  fetid  ways,  and  lie,  and  steal, 
And  curse,  and  never  know  that  words  can  bless, 
Or  that  such  thing  as  blessing  in  this  world 
Was  ever  heard  of : — Save,  oh  !  save  them  all ! 
If  not  for  their  sakes,  for  our  own  !     Not  one 
Of  all  these  myriads,  were  we  truly  wise, 
Should  perish  thus.     For,  though  they  live  in  shame, 
And  fill  the  world  with  crimes  and  miseries, 
Great  is  their  sorrow,  but  the  guilt  is  ours." 

He  ceased,  and  through  the  crowd  a  murmur  ran, 
As  though  his  words  had  moved  them  to  remorse, 
Or  pity,  but  it  died  away ;  and  one 
Speaking  for  many,  as  if  he  alone 


THE   VISION   OF   MOCKERY.  57 

Were  mouth-piece  and  interpreter  of  men, 

Exclaim'd  in  pompous  wise,  "  Why  should  we  heed  1 

Why  interfere  ?     It  is  a  perilous  thing 

To  step  between  a  parent  and  his  child. 

Each  for  himself ;    each  father  for  his  own  ; 

No  good  can  come  of  such  philosophy. 

It  weighs  all  things  in  theoretic  scales, 

And  meddles  but  to  mar.     The  world  is  good  ; 

Let  it  alone ;  'twill  educate  itself" 

He  ceased,  and  look'd  about  him  with  a  smile, 
That  said,  as  plainly  as  a  smile  can  say, 
How  smart  he  was,  how  practically  wise. 
Whereat  another,  taking  up  the  chant. 
Said,  "  Bah  !  it  irks  my  patience  evermore, 
To  hear  such  vulgar  flattery  of  the  crowd  ; 
Were  they  not  born  to  drudge,  to  groan,  to  sweat  ? 
Is't  not  so  written  in  the  Book  ?     If  so. 
Why  give  them  knowledge  they  can  never  use  1 
A  little  of  it  is  a  poisonous  thing. 
And  much  is  utterly  beyond  their  reach ; — 
So,  prithee.  Master  Quack,  let  well  alone. 
If  thou  canst  sing  for  our  amusement,  sing ; 
Or  dance,  then  dance ;  or  jest,  then  jest  away ; 
Stand  on  thy  head,  cut  capers  in  the  air. 
Or  anything  thou  wilt  but  preach  of  this." 

Thereat  the  crowd  laugh'd  as  with  one  accord ; 
And  when  the  earnest  man  again  essay'd 
To  speak  his  truth,  they  raised  derisive  shouts 
That  stifled  all  his  words  upon  his  lips, 
And  fiU'd  his  heart  and  mine  with  pity  and  grief 


58  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

What  more  was  said  I  know  not,  nor  how  long 
I  stood  amongst  them  ;    but  a  sudden  cry, 
And  rushing  of  the  people  to  one  place, 
Aroused  me  from  my  lethargy,  and,  lo  ! 
I  heard  a  voice  potential  with  the  crowd. 
Coarse  and  stentorian,  breaking  on  my  ear. 
"  Behold,"  it  said,  "  behold  the  game  of  games, 
The  chance  of  chances — better  than  all  trade. 
Commerce,  or  industry  pursued  by  man. 
Who  plays  it  well,  grows  wealthy  in  a  day ; 
Who  plays  it  ill  may  gain  more  great  reward 
Than  Labour,  with  his  utmost  pith  and  stress, 
Could  sweat  for  in  a  life."     And  as  he  spake, 
Loose  scraps  of  paper  flutter'd  in  his  hands. 
There  seem'd  deep  fascination  in  the  sight, 
For  every  eye  beseech'd,  and  every  tongue 
Implored  him  for  them.     From  his  vulgar  clutch 
They  dropp'd  like  flakes  of  snow  innumerous. 
And  then  the  scramble  and  the  crush  began ; 
Old  men  and  young,  the  famish'd  and  the  full. 
The  rich  and  poor,  widow,  and  wife,  and  maid. 
Master  and  servant,  all  with  one  intent, 
Rush'd  on  the  paper;    from  their  eager  eyes 
Flashing  a  fierce  unconquerable  greed, 
Their  hot  palms  itching,  all  their  being  fill'd 
With  one  desire  ;   so  that  amid  the  press, 
If  some  were  crush'd  and  smitten  to  the  ground. 
They  heeded  not,  but  trod  on  fallen  heads 
As  unconcernedly  as  racing  steeds 
Trample  the  sward.     And  still  the  paper  flakes 
Fell  fast  around  ;    and  still  the  crowd  rush'd  on, 
Roaring  and  wild,  its  myriad  hands  held  up 


THE   VISION    OF  MOCKERY.  59 

To  grasp  the  glittering  prizes  ere  they  fell. 

Tlien  came  a  pause.     A  fearful  mockery 

Began  to  spread.     Each  call'd  his  fellow — fool  ! 

And  every  fool  acknowledged — so  he  was, 

But  thought  his  neighbour  greater  fool  than  he. 

And  there  was  laughter  loud,  and  stifled  groans, 

And  shouts  obstreperous,  till,  all  at  once. 

They  dropp'd  the  scraps  of  paper  from  their  hands, 

As  if  a  leprosy  were  in  the  touch  ; 

And  in  their  haste,  o'er-eager  to  depart 

From  that  gross  presence,  trod  each  other  down. 

As  in  a  burning  theatre,  a  crowd 

Bushing  by  hundreds  to  one  narrow  door, 

Meet  certain  death  to  flee  uncertain  fire, 

So  they  in  panic  at  the  lust  of  gain, 

That  each  man  saw  in  others,  not  in  self. 

Fled  in  confusion,  breathless  and  distraught, 

Nor  cared  who  died,  if  they  themselves  escaped. 

I  stood  amazed,  and  blush'd  for  human-kind. 
When  on  my  ears  a  strain  of  music  broke. 
Melting  in  soft  harmonious  cadences. 
I  look'd,  and,  on  a  platform  raised  on  high, 
Beheld  a  lady  beauteous  as  the  dawn. 
Dancing  in  robes  of  white  and  azure  gauze  ; 
Her  breast  was  bare ;   her   limbs,  nor  bare  nor  hid, 
But  full  defined  through  her  transparent  robes, 
Fill'd  the  beholders  with  voluptuous  thoughts. 
She  seem'd  to  float  upon  the  buoyant  air, 
To>  be  a  creature  of  an  element 
More  spiritual  than  earth  ;    and  when  she  smiled 
TherA  was  such  witchery  in  her  painted  cheeks, 


60  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

That  all  the  crowd,  entranced  with  great  delight, 

And  quite  forgetful  of  their  past  distress, 

Shouted  with  loud  acclaim,  and  clapp'd  their  hands, 

And  when  she  twirl'd  upon  her  pliant  toe, 

One  fair  limb  vertical,  the  other  raised 

To  horizontal  straight n ess,  such  a  burst 

Of  irrepressible,  overpowering  joy, 

Fill'd  all  the  air,  it  seem'd  as  men  were  mad. 

And  dancing  were  supremest  bliss  of  earth  ; — 

The  fairest  dancer,  first  of  woman-kind. 

Then,  as  she  curtsied  with  a  winning  look 

To  her  idolaters,  a  shower  of  wreaths, 

Garlands,  and  evergreens,  and  laurel  crowns, 

Fell  all  around  her,  and  another  burst 

Of  universal  gladness  rang  around; 

And  she,  descending  from  her  platform,  slid 

Graceful  into  her  chariot,  and  the  crowd 

Fill'd  with  new  frenzy  at  her  loveliness, 

Unyoked  her  prancing  jennets,  dapple-grey. 

And  drew  her  forth  triumphant  to  her  home. 

Still  more  amazed,  I  left  this  fearful  crowd, 
And  wander'd  out  amid  the  quiet  woods 
To  hold  communion  with  my  secret  soul, 
And  note,  in  Memory's  many-storied  book, 
What  I  had  seen  and  heard — that  pondering  well 
Its  true  significance,  I  might  extract 
Good  from  the  ill,  and  from  the  darkness  light. 


THK    KING    AND   THE   NIGHTINGALES. 


61 


THE  KING  AND  THE  NIGHTINGALES. 

A   LEGEND   OF   HAVEEING. 

fHavering-atte-Bower,  in  Essex,  was  the  favourite  retirement 
of  King  Edward  the  Confessor,  who  so  delighted  in  its  solitary 
woods,  that  he  shut  himself  up  in  them  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
Old  legends  say  that  he  met  with  but  one  annoyance  in  that 
pleasant  seclusion — the  continual  warbling  of  the  nightingales, 
pouring  such  floods  of  music  upon  his  ear  during  his  midnight 
meditations,  as  to  disturb  his  devotions.  He  therefore  prayed 
that  never  more  within  the  bounds  of  that  forest  might  nightin- 
gale's song  be  heard.  His  prayer,  adds  the  legend,  was  granted. 
The  following  versification  of  the  story  shows  a  different  result 
to  his  prayers — a  result  which,  if  it  contradict  tradition,  doet 
not,  it  is  presumed,  contradict  poetical  justice.] 

King  Edward  dvrelt  at  Havering-atte-Bower — 
Old  and  enfeebled  by  the  weight  of  power — 
Sick  of  the  troublous  majesty  of  kings — 
Weary  of  duty  and  all  mortal  things — 
Weary  of  day — weary  of  night — forlorn — 
Cursing,  like  Job,  the  hour  that  he  was  born. 
Thick  woods  environ'd  him,  and  in  their  shade 
He  roam'd  all  day,  and  told  his  beads,  and  pray'd. 
Men's  faces  pain'd  him,  and  he  barr'd  his  door 
That  none  might  find  him  ; — even  the  sunshine  bore 
No  warmth*  or  comfort  to  his  wretched  sight ; 
And  darkness  pleased  no  better  than  the  light. 


62  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

He  scorn'd  himself  for  eating  food  like  men, 

And  lived  on  roots  and  water  from  the  fen  ; 

And  aye  he  groan'd,  and  bow'd  his  hoary  head — 

Did  penance,  and  put  nettles  in  his  bed — 

Wore  sackcloth  on  his  loins,  and  smote  his  breast  — 

Told  all  his  follies — all  his  sins  confessed  — 

Made  accusations  of  himself  to  heaven. 

And  own'd  to  crimes  too  great  to  be  forgiven, 

Which  he  had  thought,  although  he  had  not  done — 

Blackening  his  blackness  ;  numbering  one  by  one 

Unheard  of  villanies  without  a  name, 

As  if  he  gloried  in  inventing  shame. 

Or  thought  to  win  the  grace  of  heaven  by  lies, 

And  gain  a  saintship  in  a  fiend's  disguise. 

Long  in  these  woods  he  dwelt — a  wretched  man, 
Shut  from  all  fellowship,  self-placed  in  ban — 
Laden  with  ceaseless  prayer  and  boastful  vows, 
Which  day  and  night  he  breathed  beneath  the  boughs. 
But  sore  distress'd  he  was,  and  wretched  quite, 
For  every  evening  with  the  waning  light 
A  choir  of  nightingales,  the  brakes  among, 
Deluged  the  woods  with  overflow  of  song. 
"  Unholy  birds,"  he  said,  "  your  throats  be  riven  ! 
You  mar  my  prayers,  you  take  my  thoughts  from 

heaven  1 " 
But  still  the  song,  magnificent  and  loud, 
Pour'd  from  the  trees  like  rain  from  thunder-cloud  ; 
Now  to  his  vex'd  and  melancholy  ear 
Sounding  like  bridal  music,  pealing  clear  ; 
Anon  it  deepen'd  on  his  throbbing  brain 
To  full  triumphal  march  or  battle-strain ; 


THE   KING   AND   THE   NIGHTINGALES.  G3 

Then  seem'd  to  vary  to  a  choral  hymn, 

Or  De  Profundis  from  cathedral  dim, 

"  Te  Deum^  or  "  Hosanna  to  the  Lord,'^ 

Chanted  by  deep- voiced  priests  in  full  accord. 

He  shut  his  ears,  he  stamp'd  upon  the  sod — 

"  Be  ye  accursed,  ye  take  my  thoughts  from  God  ! 

And  thou,  beloved  saint  to  whom  I  bend. 

Lamp  of  my  life,  my  guardian,  and  my  friend, 

Make  intercession  for  me,  sweet  St.  John ! 

And  hear  the  anguish  of  thy  suffering  son  ! 

May  nevermore  within  these  woods  be  heard 

The  song  of  morning  or  of  evening  bird  ! 

May  nevermore  their  harmonies  awake 

Within  the  precincts  of  this  lonely  brake, 

For  I  am  weary,  old,  and  full  of  woe, 

And  their  songs  vex  me  !     This  one  boon  bestow, 

That  I  may  pray,  and  give  my  thoughts  to  thee. 

Without  distraction  of  their  melody  ; 

And  that  within  these  bowers  my  groans  and  sighs 

And  ceaseless  prayers  be  all  the  sound  that  rise. 

Let  God  alone  possess  me,  last  and  first ; 

And,  for  His  sake,  be  all  these  birds  accursed  I" 


This  having  said,  he  started  where  he  stood. 
And  saw  a  stranger  walking  in  the  wood ; 
A  purple  glory,  pale  as  amethyst, 
Clad  him  all  o'er.     He  knew  th'  Evangelist ; 
And,  kneeling  on  the  earth  with  reverence  meet. 
He  kiss'd  his  garment's  hem,  and  clasp'd  his  feet. 
"Rise,"  said  the  saint,  ''and  know,  unhappy  king, 
That  true  Eeligion  hates  no  living  thing; 


64  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOU^' TAINS. 

It  loves  the  sunlig?it,  loves  the  face  of  man, 
And  takes  all  virtuous  pleasure  that  it  can — 
Shares  in  each  harmless  joy  that  Nature  gives, 
Bestows  its  sympathy  on  all  that  lives, 
Sings  with  the  bird,  rejoices  with  the  bee, 
And,  wise  as  manhood,  sports  with  infancy. 
Let  not  the  nightingales  disturb  thy  prayers, 
But  make  thy  thanksgiving  as  pure  as  theirs ; 
So  shall  it  mount  on  wings  of  love  to  heaven, 
And  thou,  forgiving,  be  thyself  forgiven." 

The  calm  voice  ceased ; — King  Edward  dared  not 
look, 
But  bent  to  earth,  and  blush'd  at  the  rebuke  ! 
And  thougli  he  closed  his  eyes  and  hid  his  face. 
He  knew  the  saint  had  vanish'd  from  the  place. 
And  when  he  rose,  ever  the  wild  woods  rang 
With  the  sweet  song  the  birds  of  evening  sang. 
No  more  he  cursed  them  ;    loitering  on  his  way 
He  listen'd,  pleased,  and  bless'd  them  for  their  lay, 
And  on  the  morrow  quitted  Havering 
To  mix  with  men  and  be  again  a  king, 
And  fasting,  moaning,  scorning,  praying  less, 
Increased  in  virtue  and  in  happiness. 


65 


EVERMOKE— NEVERMORE. 

"Wilt  thou  run  to  me  for  ever?" 

Said  the  ocean  to  the  river. 

"Will  ye  ever  fall  on  my  hills  and  plains?" 

Said  the  dry  land  to  the  rains. 

"Will  ye  ever  blossom  while  I  sing?" 

Said  the  lark  to  the  flowers  of  spring. 

"Will  ye  ever  ripen  while  I  shine?" 

Said  the  sun  to  the  corn  and  vine. 

And  ever  the  answer  the  breezes  bore 

Was,  " Evertnore—for  evermore,^ 

"As  long  as  all  these  things  shall  be," 

Said  I,  to  Rosa  kissing  me, 

"  Shall  Truth  be  sharper  than  a  sword  ? 

Shall  kindness  be  its  own  reward  1 

Shall  a  free  heart  smoothe  the  roughest  way! 

Shall  Hope  shed  light  on  the  darkest  day  ? 

Shall  tempests  spare  the  reeds  that  bow, 

And  thou  love  me  as  thou  lovest  now?" 

And  ever  the  answer  her  sweet  lips  bore 

Was,  ^^ Evermore— for  evermore.^ 

"But  shall  I  ever  come  back  from  thee?" 
Said  the  river  to  the  sea ; 
"Or  I?"  said  the  flower  that  Rosa  threw 
Into  its  waters  bright  and  blue. 
F 


66  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

"Will  ye  bloom  again  on  the  summer  eves?" 

Said  the  tree  to  its  wither'd  leaves. 

"Wilt  thou  fall  again  when  the  north  winds  blowT' 

Said  the  grass  to  the  melting  snow. 

And  ever  the  answer  the  breezes  bore 

Was,  ''^Nevermore — o/i,  nevermorey 

"If  such  the  rule  beneath  the  skies," 

Said  Eosa,  gazing  in  my  eyes, 

"Shall  duty  quit  the  debt  we  owe  her, 

Or  blisses  fail  the  bliss-bestower  ? 

Shall  a  miser's  heart  be  improved  by  his  gold  ? 

Shall  the  wealth  of  Love  be  ever  toldl 

Or  thou  prove  false  to  the  tender  vow 

Thou  swearest  and  repeatest  now?" 

And  ever  the  answer  my  true  lips  bore 

Was,  ^^  Nevermore — oh  nevermore^ 


67 


THE  TEUE  COMPANION. 

Give  me  the  man,  however  old  and  staid, 

Or  worn  with  sorrow  and  perplexity, 
"Who,  when  he  walks  in  sunshine  or  in  shade, 

By  woodland  bowers,  or  bare  beach  of  the  sea, 

O'er  hill-top,  or  in  valleys  green,  with  me. 
Throws  off  his  age  and  gambols  like  a  child. 
And  finds  a  boyish  pleasure  in  the  wild, 

Rejuvenescent  on  the  flowery  lea ! 
Him  shall  the  year  press  lightly  as  he  goes; 

The  kindly  wisdom  gather'd  in  the  fields 
Shall  be  his  antidote  to  worldly  woes; 

And  the  o'erflowing  joy  that  nature  yields 
To  her  true  lovers  shall  his  heart  inclose. 

And  blunt  the  shafts  of  care  like  iron  shields. 


f2 


68  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


WELCOME  BACK. 

Sweet  songs  of  nightingale  and  lark 

That  greet  the  golden  dawn, 
Or  twilight  deepening  into  dark, 

By  mountain,  grove,  or  lawn ; 
Long  days,  clear  nights,  and  balmy  winds, 

Fresh  flowers  and  forest  leaves, 
Birds,  blossoms,  fruit  of  ruddy  rinds, 

New  hay,  and  barley  sheaves ; 
All  joys  of  nature,  sounds  or  sights 

Of  forest,  stream,  or  plain, 
Ye're  welcome,  welcome,  welcome  ever. 

And  welcome  back  again. 

Fair  hopes,  forgotten  'mid  our  toils. 

Sweet  visions  dream'd  of  yore. 
Calm  thoughts  efiaced  in  life's  turmoils. 

Old  songs  we've  sung  before  ; 
Forgotten  comrades,  friends  estranged, 

Acquaintance  o'er  the  seas. 
Old  feelings  weaken'd,  lost,  or  changed, 

And  youthful  memories ; 
Pure  joys  of  home,  kind  words,  sweet  smiles, 

And  sympathy  in  pain, 
Ye're  welcome,  welcome,  welcome  ever. 

And  welcome  back  again. 


WELCOME  BACK.  69 

For  Heaven  is  kind,  and  makes  no  stint 

Of  blessings,  though  we  die ; 
They  pass  in  circles,  and  imprint 

Their  footsteps  as  they  fly. 
'Tis  ours  to  train  them  when  begun, 

To  keep  the  circle  true. 
And  not  neglect,  forget,  or  shun 

The  old  ones  for  the  new. 
Ne'er  to  the  hearts  that  prize  them  well 

They  hold  their  course  in  vain  : 
They're  welcome,  welcome,  welcome  ever 

And  welcome  back  again. 


70  VOICES   FROM  THE  MOimTAINS. 


A  LOVEE'S  FANCIES. 

"  What  sownds  like  pewter  ?"  said  my  Rose  in  play — 

"The  fall  of  earth  upon  a  coflSn-lid." 
"Like  tin?'' — "The  cock-crow  heralding  the  day, 

Or  infant  wailing  that  its  mother  chid." 
"Like  steel  ?" — "  The  quick  sharp  twitter  on  the  spray 

Of  numerous  sparrows  in  the  foliage  hid." 
"Like  gold?'' — "The  strong  wind  over  forests  borne, 

Or  full  bass  singer  chanting  prayer  and  creed." 
"Like  brass?" — "The  neighing  of  a  frighten'd  steed. 

Or  roar  of  people  clamouring  for  corn." 
"Like  iron?" — "Thunder-claps  suddenly  woken, 

Startling  the  city  in  the  summer  night." 
"Like  silver  ?" — "Thy  sweet  voice  that  speaks  delight, 

And  breathes  Love's  promise,  never  to  be  broken." 


71 


THE  NINE  BATHERS. 

'^  I  WOULD  like  to  bathe  in  milk," 

Said  little  Agnes,  fresh  and  fair, 

"With  her  taper  fingers  smooth  as  silk, 

Her  cherry  cheeks  and  nut-brown  hair — 

"In  a  bath  of  ivory,  fill'd  to  the  brim, 

I  would  love  to  lie  and  swim. 

And  float  like  a  strawberry  pluck' d  at  dawn, 

In  the  lily-white  waves  of  milk  new-drawn." 

"And  I,"  said  Hose,  with  her  eyes  divine, 
"  Would  love  to  bathe  in  the  ruddy  wine, 
Trailing  my  long  and  coal-black  locks 
In  purple  clarets  and  amber  hocks; 
And  I  would  have  a  fountain  play 
So  that  the  wine  might  fall  in  spray, 
And  I  might  stand  in  the  sparkling  rain, 
Statue-like  in  perfect  rest; — 
And  if  the  droplets  left  a  stain, 
I'd  have  a  fountain  of  champagne 
To  wash  the  purple  from  my  breast ; 
And  troops  of  slaves,  in  rich  attire. 
Should  scatter  myrrh  and  incense  sweet, 
And  bring  me,  should  my  looks  desire, 
A  golden  ewer  to  wash  my  feet. 


72  TOICES  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS, 

rd  tread  on  carpets  of  velvet  woof, 

My  mirrors  should  reach  from  floor  to  roof. 

And  every  slave  should  envy  me 

My  loveliness  and  luxury." 

"And  I,"  said  Jane,  with  her  eyes'  dark  glances 

Radiant  with  untold  romances, 

"Would  choose  a  milder  bath  than  thine, 

Nor  crumple  my  curls  with  fiery  wine. 

In  a  bath  of  alabaster  bright. 

In  a  marble-fioor^d  and  lofty  hall, 

Transplendent  with  the  regal  light 

Of  a  thousand  lamps  from  roof  and  wall. 

Amid  exotics  rich  and  rare 

Pilling  with  odours  all  the  air. 

In  clear  rose-water  I  would  lie. 

Like  a  lily  on  a  lake  serene. 

Or  move  my  limbs  to  the  harmony 

Of  an  orchestra  unseen, 

Placed  in  a  chamber  far  remote, 

And  floating  sing,  and  singing  float.'* 

"  Sweet  bath  !  **  said  the  calm  faiy  Margaret ; 

"But  the  bath  I'd  choose  is  sweeter  yet. 

I'd  have  it  in  a  rich  saloon 

Open  to  the  breeze  of  noon, 

With  marble  columns  smooth  and  high. 

And  crimson  damask  drapery, 

Pill'd  with  statues  chaste  and  rare 

Of  nymphs  and  gods  divinely  fair. 

Of  jet-black  marble  the  bath  should  be. 

With  no  white  speck  on  its  purity^ 


^H     It  sliou 


THE   NINE   BATHEES.  T3 


It  should  not  flow  with  milk  or  wine, 
"With  scented  waters  or  with  brine.; 
It  should  be  fill'd  with  meadow  dew, 
Gather'd  at  morning  in  the  grass, 
'Mid  harebell-cups  and  violets  blue, 
And  my  bath  should  be  my  looking-glass; 
And  I  would  have  a  score  of  maids 
Glowing  with  beauty,  each  and  all, 
To  twist  my  locks  in  graceful  braids. 
And  dress  me  for  a  festival." 

"And  I,"  said  Lilias,  raising  her  eyes 

Clear  as  morn,  of  passion  full, 

"Would  love  to  bathe  under  Eastern  skies, 

In  the  palace  gardens  of  Istamboul, 

In  the  hanging  groves  of  Babylon, 

Or  Bagdad,  city  of  the  sun, 

'Mid  orange,  date,  and  trailing  vine, 

Palm,  and  myrtle,  and  eglantine; 

I  would  have  fifty  fountains  fair, 

'Mid  bowers  of  roses  and  evergreens, 

And  bathing  in  the  odorous  air, 

I  would  be  w?tited  on  by  queens." 

"And  I,"  said  Ann,  with  her  drooping  tresses. 

And  eyes  as  full  of  love's  caresses 

As  the  morning  is  of  day. 

And  mouth  so  ripe  and  kindly  smiling 

'Twas  never  made  to  answer  "Nay," 

"I  would  bathe  in  the  fresh  blue  sea 

With  the  wild  waves  sporting  over  me ; 

I  would  toy  with  the  harmless  foam, 


74  VOICES   FROM   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Passing  my  fingers  like  a  comb 
Through  the  crest  of  each  wave  that  rear'd 
Its  spray,  as  white  as  Neptune's  beard  ; — 
With  a  fresh  wind  blowing  across  the  reach, 
I  would  dive  and  float  again  and  again, 
And  dress  myself  on  the  bare  sea-beach, 
In  a  nook  invisible  to  men." 

"And  I,"  said  Laura,  "would  choose  my  bath 

Where  a  river  took  its  lonely  path 

On  round  smooth  shingle,  clear  in  its  flow. 

Showing  the  pebbles  that  slept  below, 

Through  a  flowery  lawn  well  shaven  and  soft, 

And  cool  to  the  feet.     I  would  not  care 

For  bands  of  music,  if  larks  aloft 

Fill'd  with  their  songs  the  sunny  air; 

I  would  not  ask  for  lustres  bright. 

If  the  clear  morning  shed  its  light ; 

Nor  for  marble  statue  of  youth  and  maid, 

If  oaks  and  poplars  lent  their  shade ; 

Nor  for  exotics  of  choice  perfume, 

If  the  Meadow-sweet  were  fresh  in  bloom  ; 

I  would  but  ask  for  a  summer  day, 

And  nearest  eyes  ten  miles  away." 

"And  I,"  said  tuneful  Isabel, 
With  her  soft  blue  eyes  and  cheek  vermeil, 
With  her  witching  smile  and  modest  blush. 
And  voice  to  make  the  blackbird  hush, 
"I  would  not  bathe  by  the  sea-beach  cold, 
Nor  river  running  through  open  wold ; 
I  would  not  bathe  in  halls  of  state, 


THE  NINE  BATHERS.  75 

In  wine,  or  milk,  or  honey-dew ; 

On  me  should  no  serving  maidens  wait, 

Nor  luxury  my  senses  woo. 

I  would  bathe  far  up  in  a  Highland  burn, 

Hidden  from  sight  in  its  every  turn, 

Deep  embower'd  'mid  pendent  larch. 

And  silver  birches  poised  on  high. 

With  nothing  alive  to  cross  my  path 

But  the  bright  incurious  butterfly; 

In  a  limpid  basin  of  the  rocks 

I  would  unbind  my  flaxen  locks. 

And  lay  my  clothes  on  the  mossy  stone, 

Happy — happy — and  all  alone." 

"And  I,"  said  Geraldine,  smoothing  back. 

From  her  stately  brow,  her  tresses  black, 

A  blush,  like  morning  over  the  isles. 

Dawning  upon  her  cheeks,  and  smiles 

Flashing  about  her  lips  and  eyes. 

Full  of  meanings  and  mysteries, 

"I  would  love  to  bathe  in  a  quiet  mere, 

As  a  mirror  smooth,  as  a  dewdrop  clear, 

So  still,  that  my  floating  limbs  should  make 

The  only  ripples  upon  the  lake ; 

I'd  have  it  fringed  with  fruits  and  flowers, 

Forests  and  orchards,  groves  and  bowers. 

That  whenever  I  bathed  in  the  noons  of  spring 

I  might  pluck  laburnums  blossoming, 

Or  shake,  as  I  floated,  the  lilac  blooms, 

Or  chestnut-cones  with  their  rich  perfumes. 

Over  my  glanciug  neck  and  shoulders, 

Conceal'd  in  the  leaves  from  all  beholders, 


D  VOICES  FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Except  from  the  ringdove — too  intent 

On  her  own  pleasures  to  look  at  mine ; 

And  if  I  bathed  when  the  flowers  were  spent, 

And  peaches  blush'd  in  the  autumn  shine, 

I  would  choose  a  solitary  nook 

By  the  confluence  of  a  brook, 

Where   the    apples   were   ripe,  and    the   jet-black 

cherries. 
And  the  juicy  luscious  dark  mulberries, 
Or  jargonelles  of  a  ruddy  gold. 
And  nectarines  as  sweet  to  taste 
As  the  kisses  of  urchins  three  years  old, 
Grew  within  reach,  that  stretching  in  haste 
My  hand  to  the  boughs  as  I  floated  near, 
Or  stood  knee-deep  in  the  lucid  mere, 
I  might  rustle  and  shake  the  pulpy  treasure 
Into  the  water  for  my  pleasure, 
Catching  an  apple  as  it  fell, 
Or  diving  for  a  jargonelle/' 


-  &CO  » 


77 


TWO  MYSTERIES. 


Two  awful  mysteries  encompass  me  around, 

And  follow  me  for  ever  as  I  go  j 

I  see,  yet  see  them  not, — I  know  they  are, 

And  that  they  change  more  rapidly  than  thought, 

Yet  feel  'mid  variability,  that  change, 

While  it  affects  them,  leaves  them  still  the  same. 

Sane,  I  enjoy  them  both — both  are  myself; 

Insane,  I  fly  them,  but  they  haunt  me  still; — 

Two  mysteries  and  yet  one — one  infinite, 

Two  undistinguish'd  points  in  space  and  time, 

Ever  efiaced  and  ever  permanent ; — 

Two  little  atoms  so  magnificent 

That  all  the  past  conspired  to  give  them  birth, 

And  all  the  mighty  future  hangs  on  one ; — 

My  Self,  my  Now,— God's  Self,  God's  Now ;  so  link'd 

That  not  Eternity  can  disentwine 

One  from  the  other.     Both  to  be  employ'd 

So  that  their  circle  evermore  shall  stretch 

Till  suns,  and  systems,  and  whole  firmaments 

Shall  seem  but  points  commensurate  with  them, 

And  aye  to  widen  ever  and  evermore, 

Nearing  the  throne  where  the  Eternal  sits, 

Is  joy,  love,  knowledge,  happiness  divine — 

Oh  that  the  secret  of  their  use  were  mine ! 


78  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  AHASUERUS. 

I  WAS  betray'd,  and  cruelly  undone, 
Smitten  to  anguish  in  my  sorest  part, 
And  so  disgusted  with  all  human  life, 
That  curses  came  spontaneous  to  my  lips ; 
I  cursed  the  day — I  cursed  my  fellow-men  ; 
I  cursed  my  God  that  made  so  bad  a  world. 
Goaded  to  frenzy  by  excess  of  pain, 
I  tore  my  hair, — I  dash'd  my  bleeding  head 
Against  a  wall ;   sobb'd,  wept,  and  gnash'd  my  teeth. 
I  howl'd  anathemas  against  myself 
For  being  man,  and  living  on  the  earth. 
When  suddenly  a  sweet  and  heavenly  calm 
Fell  on  my  spirit ;   and  a  mild  clear  light 
Diffused  itself  about  me  where  I  stood  ; 
And  I  was  conscious  of  a  visible  power 
Unutterably  great,  divinely  good  ; 
And  a  voice  spake,  not  angrily,  but  sad  : 
"  Weak  and  unjust !   thou  hast  hlasphemed  thy  God; 
God,  whom  thou  knowest  not.     Thou  hast  maligned 
Thy  fdlow-men.     Live,  till  thou  knowest  hothP^ 
The  awful  glory  stole  away  my  sense, 
Th'  excess  of  splendour  dazzled  my  dim  eyes ; 
The  clear  words  made  me  dumb  ;   and  for  a  while 
Torpid  and  clod-like  on  the  earth  I  lay, 
Till  th' ineffable  brightness  disappear' d. 


I 


THE   CONFESSION   OF   AHASUERUS.  79 


And  when  I  waken'd,  life  was  misery; 
Burden  too  mighty  for  my  flesh  to  bear. 
"  Live  till  I  know  my  God  !     That  might  I  well ; 
But  live  in  sorrow  till  I  know  mankind? 
Heavy  the  curse  !     But  if  it  must  be  borne, 
Let  me  gain  knowledge  quickly,  and  so  die!" 
Long  did  I  live.     One  hundred  years  of  time 
I  held  the  faith  that  all  my  people  held ; 
Observed  their  laws,  and  to  a  God  of  Fear 
Knelt  down  in  awe  and  worshipp'd  His  derad  name. 
But  still  I  lived,  and  cursed  the  weary  days ; 
And  had  no  love  or  reverence  for  my  kind. 
And  still  my  pain  grew  with  my  discontent, 
That  I  could  not  release  myself  and  die. 

Youth  in  my  limbs,  but  age  upon  my  heart, 
I  roam'd  the  earth.     I  dwelt  among  the  Greeks; 
I  saw,  well  pleased,  the  majesty  of  life. 
The  power  of  beauty,  and  the  sense  of  joy ; 
The  physical  grandeur  of  the  earth  and  heaven ; 
But  God  himself  was  stranger  to  my  thought ; 
I  had  a  worship,  but  no  inward  faith  ; 
I  pray'd  to  gods  of  human  lineament, 
Emblems  of  natural  forces  and  desires ; 
I  fiU'd  the  woods  with  visionary  shapes ; 
Peopled  the  hills,  the  vales,  the  rocks,  the  streams, 
The  dark  caves,  and  the  sunny  mountain-tops, 
With  forms  of  beauty ;   and  conversed  with  them 
Upon  unseen,  unreal  phantasies. 
Until  they  seem'd  so  palpable  to  sight. 
So  like  to  men  in  passion,  vice,  and  crime, 
I  loathed,  and  shudder' d,  and  abhorr'd  them  all; 


80  VOICES   FROM   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Nor  knew  in  what  abysm  and  hell  of  thought 
To  sink  remembrance.     And  I  lived — and  lived, 
Longer  than  hope ;    and  still  I  could  not  die. 

Then  far  away  into  the  burning  East 
I  bent  my  steps.     And  at  one  drowsy  noon, 
Under  a  palm-tree  shade,  beside  a  well, 
Sat  down,  and  groan'd  in  bitterness  of  grief 
That  God  was  still  an  alien  to  my  soul. 
I  cast  my  limbs  upon  the  feverish  ground 
And  lay  upon  my  face ;    and  with  my  tears 
Moisten'd  the  dust  around  me,  praying  still 
That  I  might  die ;    for  I  was  sere  of  heart. 
Old,  miserably  old,  and  most  forlorn. 
Thus  lay  I  from  the  noon  into  the  night. 
And  from  the  night  into  the  sudden  dawn, 
And  all  that  day  I  batten'd  on  my  tears. 
When,  lo !    there  came  a  pilgrim  by  the  way, 
A  pale,  deject,  and  wiry-featured  wretch, 
With  hands  all  sinewy,  like  a  parrot's  claws. 
Thin  lips,  bright  eyes,  sunk  cheeks,  and  grizzled  hair. 
Thei'e  was  a  comfort  in  his  hideousness. 
As  he  sat  down  and  gazed  upon  my  grief, 
And  gave  me  pity,  and  contemptuous  cheer. 
"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  why  what  a  fool  art  thou  ! 
Neither  in  time,  nor  in  eternity. 
Neither  in  God,  in  nature,  nor  in  man. 
Is  their  aught  worth  the  weeping  of  an  hour. 
'Tis  good  to  run,  but  better  far  to  walk ; 
'Tis  good  to  walk,  but  better  to  sit  still ; 
*Tis  good  to  stand  and  wake,  but  better  far 
To  lie  and  sleep,  untroubled  by  a  dream; 


THE   CONFESSION   OF    AIIASUERUS.  81 

Tis  good  to  be  wheu  tlionglit  has  been  destroy'd, 
Better,  tar  better,  never  to  have  been. 
The  grass  is  happy  ;    happier  is  the  stone. 
Highest  of  good  is  rest  ; — rest  so  sublime. 
So  deep,  so  thorough  as  to  seem  like  death. 
Be  Rest  thy  god.     Let  the  winds  moan,  not  thou ; 
Let  the  skies  weep,  but  shed  not  thou  a  tear ; 
And  sleep  and  fast  thy  troublous  life  away 
In  one  most  happy  and  incessant  calm, 
^vTill  sweet  annihilation  blots  thee  out. 
This  is  Eeligion,  this  the  only  Faith  • 
Bliss  is  absorption — Heaven  is  nothingness," 

He  led  me  with  his  eye, — I  foUow'd  him, 
And  I  became  a  dull  insensate  lump, 
And  dozed  in  Buddha's  temples  night  and  day; 
I  bruised  in  mortar  of  my  selfishness 
All  thoughts,  all  feeling,  all  desire,  all  vice, 
All  virtue,  into  one  amorphous  mass 
Of  apathy,  and  idiotcy,  and  sloth. 
How  long  I  wallow'd  in  this  senseless  sty 
I  never  knew ;    I  was  but  half  alive, 
And  had  no  memory  of  time  or  change, 
Only  at  intervals  a  grievous  pain. 

I  was  aroused  at  last,  and  scourged  with  whips, 
Kick'd,  beaten,  spat  on,  cast  into  the  mire. 
Change  had  come  o'er  the  places  where  I  dwelt ; 
There  was  new  law  for  men,  new  faith  for  God. 
The  conqueror's  sword  had  pass'd  upon  the  plain, 
And  what  was  spared  did  homage  for  its  life. 
God  and  his  Prophet  were  the  lords  of  earth; 
G 


S2  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAi:S'S. 

And  suddenly  awaked,  I  found  that  I, 

Even  I,  was  living  ;    that  the  world  was  new 

Though  I  was  old,  most  lamentably  old, 

Eut  still  condemn'd  to  mingle  with  my  kind, 

And  choose  my  faith.     I  did  as  others  did, 

Learn'd  the  new  law,  and  thought  I  served  my  God. 

I  served  him  not.     Obedience  blind,  inept, 

Unthinking,  dull,  insensate  was  the  law. 

Fate  lorded  over  -Will ;  Necessity 

Turn'd  men  into  machines.     I  cast  my  eyes. 

Despairing  still,  upon  the  firmament, 

Jewell'd  with  worlds,  and  reason'd  with  myself^ 

If  Fate  or  Will  upheld  them  in  their  place ; 

And  in  the  infinite  madness  of  my  brain, 

Conceived  that  each,  majestic  as  it  shone. 

Was  fill'd  with  misery  and  doubt  like  mine ; — 

A  rolling  hell  set  in  the  sky  to  preach 

To  other  hells,  as  wretched  as  itself, 

The  dreadful  power,  the  boundlessness  of  ill. 

Long  did  I  struggle  with  this  deep  despair, 

And  vehemently  pray,  both  morn  and  night, 

That  I  might  be  extinguished  utterly ; 

That  I  might  lay  upon  the  arid  soil 

My  lifeless  bones,  to  feed  the  hungry  roots 

Of  hemlock  or  mandragora  with  lime  ; 

That  I  at  least  might  end  my  doubts  in  death, 

Though  death  were  but  the  gate  to  other  worlds 

Of  spiritual  anguish  more  intense  than  this. 

Another  change  came  over  me.     Ere  long 
I  wander'd  forth  o'er  Asiatic  plains; 
Dwelt  with  the  lizard  in  the  crumbling  halls 


THE   CONFESSION   OF   AHASUERUS.  83 

Of  antique  cities  desolate,  whose  names 

Were  lost  from  memory.     I  shared  the  tent 

Of  roving  spearmen  and  banditti  fierce, 

So  utter  old  and  sad,  that  murderous  thieves 

Took  pity  on  my  want  and  misery, 

And  spake  me  kindly,  even  when  they  loathed. 

I  lay  beneath  the  palms  at  set  of  sun. 

And  wish'd  that  ravenous  and  night-prowling  beasts 

Would  tear  me  limb  from  limb  before  the  dawn. 

I  cross'd  great  deserts  in  the  burning  heat, 

Forded  strong  rivers,  pierced  through  trackless  woods — 

A  thing  so  utter  sad,  that  the  lean  wolves 

Fled  terror-smitten  when  they  met  my  glance. 

And  hungry  serpents  hiss'd  and  slunk  away. 

How   long    the    madness    burn'd,    'twere   vain   to 
tell  ;— 
Time  and  Eternity  seem'd  one  to  me. 
But  in  a  bright  and  lovely  summer's  morn 
I  felt  my  limbs  supple  and  strong  again, 
As  in  my  youth,  ere  grief  and  I  were  friends. 
Far  had  I  journey'd  to  an  eastern  clime, 
'Mid  an  old  people  and  an  older  faith. 
I  found  some  comfort,  yet  I  could  not  die. 
Still  was  Obedience  law :    childish  and  calm, 
Not  to  a  blind  and  cruel  destiny. 
But  to  the  wise  irrevocable  rule 
Of  a  just  Deity,  that  made  mankind, 
And  sent  his  clay-vicegerents  to  the  earth, 
To  rule  them  justly,  if  they  would  submit 
To  walk  for  ever  in  the  same  dull  track, — 
To  live  and  act,  from  barren  age  to  age, 
G  2 


84  VOICES   FEOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

In  the  same  fashion,  with  the  same  desires, 
Same  thoughts,  same  habits,  and  same  prejudice; 
More  dull  and  senseless  than  a  stagnant  mire, 
That  even  in  its  rottenness  and  sloth 
Breeds  something  novel  from  its  fruitful  slime  : — 
But  they  bred  nothing,  only  their  dull  selves ; 
And  I  despised  them,  hated  them — and  lived ! 
-And  knew  by  living  I  was  still  accursed, 
And  loved  not  God  nor  yet  my  fellow-men. 

There  was  no  resting  here  :  my  fiery  soul 
Felt  mortal  anguish  to  co-herd  with  theirs. 
I  went  again  a  wanderer  o'er  the  earth. 
Taking  no  heed  of  time,  or  place,  or  change. 
But  weary,  weary,  abject  and  forlorn. 

One  year  ago — 'twas  but  one  little  year — 
I  enter'd,  in  my  rags  and  squalidness, 
A  large  fair  city  of  the  populous  West  • 
The  church-bells  rang,  the  people  were  astir 
In  countless  multitudes  through  all  the  streets; 
Gay  banners  flaunted  in  the  morning  air. 
And  waves  of  music,  from  the  Gothic  porch 
Of  a  cathedral,  rush'd  in  floods  divine, 
ISTow  in  full  tidal  flow,  and  now  in  ebb, 
So  grand,  so  awe-inspiring,  that  even  I, 
Despised,  abandon'd,  abject,  and  abhorr'd. 
Felt  holy  joy  to  listen  to  the  sound, 
Which  soothed  my  spirit  with  melodious  peace. 

I  listen'd  long ;  for  my  sad  heart  was  full. 
I  could  have  floated  painlessly  to  death. 


THE   CONFESSION   OF  AHASUERUS.  85 

And  bless'd  the  music  with  my  latest  sigh, — 

But  that  a  sudden  plucking  at  the  hem, 

All  mire-bedraggled,  of  my  tatter'd  robe, 

Caused  me  to  turn  :  I  saw  a  fair  young  face, 

Sweet  even  as  hers  who  loved  me  in  her  youth — 

She  whom  I  now,  for  the  first  time,  forgave 

For  wrongs  inflicted  on  my  trusting  heart ; 

Like — but  unlike ;  lovely — yet  not  so  fair ; 

And  at  my  miserable  feet  she  knelt 

To  crave  my  blessing  : — "  Blessing  !  and  from  me  ! 

From  me,  the  vilest,  meanest  of  mankind  f 

"Ay,  and  from  thee  !"  she  said ;  "we  know  thee  well. 

Thou  hast  long  suffer  d — thou'rt  a  saint  of  God." 

And  all  the  people,  gathering  round  about, 

Join'd  in  her  supplication ;  kneeling  down, 

To  crave  my  blessing — not  in  mockery, 

But  with  deep  reverence.     Strange  it  seem'd,  that  I, 

Who  had  not  known  for  spanless  gulfs  of  time 

What  blessing  meant,  should  have  the  power  to  bless  ! 


I  could  not  bless  her,  for  I  felt  my  heart 
Glow  with  dear  memories  forgotten  long, 
Brought  back  upon  me  by  her  mild  sweet  face. 
The  burden  of  my  long-enduring  pain 
Was  light en'd  by  that  pity,  and  I  wept ; 
And  every  tear  I  shed  became  to  me 
Belief  and  joy,  as,  with  an  earnest  voice, 
I  bless'd  the  people,  showing  them  the  while 
My  own  unworthiness  more  great  than  theirs ; 
Unmeet  my  lips  to  utter  words  of  peace, 
Who  long  had  cursed  myself  and  all  my  kind. 


S6  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

And  now  the  hoary  portals  opening  wide, 
Forth  issued  an  array  of  robed  priests, 
In  white  and  scarlet ;  boys  with  censers  flung 
Eich  incense  in  the  air,  while  others  hymn'd, 
"With  sweet  clear  voice,  "  Hosanna  to  the  Lord  !  * 
And  all  the  people  knelt,  and  with  them  I. 
The  solemn  music  fill'd  the  pliant  air, 
And  a  religious  sense  was  wafted  round, — 
Sense  superadded,  and  unfelt  before. 
I  could  not  rise ;  my  cramp'd  and  weary  joints 
Seem'd  bloodless  as  the  stones  on  which  I  knelt ; 
And  the  procession  and  the  people  pass'd 
In  all  their  gorgeousness ;  and  I  was  left 
To  my  own  strength,  to  follow  if  I  list, 
Or  lie  upon  the  pavement  and  expire. 

I  rose.     I  felt  within  my  secret  soul 
More   peace   than   had   been   mine    since    the    great 

curse 
Was  spoken  by  the  Presence  for  my  sin. 
But  as  I  could  not  stay  to  be  a  saint. 
And  bear  the  flattery  of  the  ignorant, 
With  a  new  courage  I  endued  my  heart, 
And  pray'd  for  strength,  and  went  upon  my  way. 

Here  am  I  now.     In  thy  serene  abode, 
I've  gain'd  new  comfort  from  thy  reverend  lips. 
And  learn'd  the  secret  of  my  destiny. 
'Twas  thou  that  taught  me  from  the  blessed  Book 
That  God  is  Love ;  and  that  those  serve  Him  best 
Who  love  their  fellows,  and  obey  the  law, 


THE   CONFESSION    OF   AHASUERUS.  87 

Sublime  but  easy,  preacli'd  by  Him  who  died 
To  seal  His  doctrine  by  his  guiltless  blood. 

I  have  not  long  to  live.     My  race  is  run. 
I  would  live  longer,  were  it  but  to  preach 
To  other  souls  as  wretched  as  my  own, 
The  mighty  truth,  that  God  is  Love  indeed ; 
But  feel  within  me  that  mine  hour  is  come. 
I  shall  not  see  the  morning  dawn  again ; 
My  sin  is  pardon'd — I  shall  die  in  peace. 

Bury  me  by  myself — under  a  cross. 
And  put  a  fair  white  tombstone  o'er  my  grave. 
Place  on  it  name,  nor  date,  nor  words,  save  these  : 
"He  learn'd  in  suffering  that  God  was  Love, 
And  died  in  hope."     Bear  with  me  for  a  while  j 
I  shall  not  die  ere  I  have  slept  an  hour. 
Mine  eyes  are  weary,  let  me  close  them  now; 
I  shall  awake  to  bless  thee  and  depart. 
Visions  of  glory  throng  upon  my  soul: 
Brother,  farewell,  I'll  see  thee  yet  again. 
Here  and  hereafter.     Let  me  slumber  now. 


9,^--^s-^Q^1^^^J^^^^ 


SS  VOICES   Fr.OM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 


A  REVERIE  IN  THE  GRASS, 

Here  let  me  rest,  amid  the  bearded  grass, 
Sprinkled  with  buttercups ;   and  idly  pass 
One  hour  of  sunshine  on  the  green  hill-slope, 
"Watching  the  ridged  clouds  that  o'er  the  cope 
Of  visible  heaven  sail  quietly  along ; 
Listening  the  wind,  or  rustling  leaves,  or  song 
Of  blackbird  or  sweet  ringdove  in  the  copse 
Of  pines  and  sycamores,  whose  dark  green  tops 
Form  a  clear  outline  right  against  the  blue  : — 
Here  let  me  lie  and  dream,  losing  from  view 
All  vex'd  and  worldly  things,  and  for  one  hour 
Living  such  life  as  green  leaf  in  a  bower 
Might  live  ;   breathing  the  calm,  pure  air. 
Heedless  of  hope,  or  fear,  or  joy,  or  care. 

Oh,  it  is  pleasant  in  this  summer  time. 
To  sit  alone  and  meditate  or  rhyme ; 
To  hear  the  bee  plying  his  busy  trade, 
Or  grasshopper  alert  in  sun  and  shade. 
With  bright  large  eyes  and  ample  forehead  bald. 
Clad  in  cuirass  and  cuishes  emerald. 
Here  let  me  rest,  and  for  a  little  space 
Shut  out  the  world  from  my  abiding-place  ; 
Seeing  around  me  nought  but  grass  and  bent, 
Nothing  above  me  but  the  firmament  j 


I 


A   REVERIE   IN   THE   GRAS3.  89 


For  such  my  pleasure,  that  in  solitude 
Over  my  seething  fancies  I  may  brood, 
Encrucibled  and  moulded  as  I  list, 
And  I,  expectant  as  an  alchymist. 

Oh,  beautiful  green  grass!  Earth-covering  fair! 
What  shall  be  sung  of  thee,  nor  bright,  nor  rare, 
Nor  highly  thought  of?     Long  green  grass  that  waves 
By  the  wayside,  over  the  ancient  graves. 
Or  shoulders  of  the  mountain  looming  high, 
Or  skulls  of  rocks,  bald  in  their  majesty, 
Except  for  thee,  that  in  the  crevices 
Liv'st  on  the  nurture  of  the  sun  and  breeze  ; 
Adorner  of  the  nude  rude  breast  of  hills, 
Mantle  of  meadows,  fringe  of  gushing  rills, 
Humblest  of  all  the  humble,  thou  shalt  be, 
If  to  none  else,  exalted  unto  me, 
And  for  a  time,  a  type  of  joy  on  Earth — 
Joy  unobtrusive,  of  perennial  birth, 
Common  as  light  and  air,  and  warmth  and  rain, 
And  all  the  daily  blessings  that  in  vain 
Woo  us  to  gratitude  :    the  earliest  born 
Of  all  the  juicy  verdures  that  adorn 
The  fruitful  bosom  of  the  kindly  soil ; 
Pleasant  to  eyes  that  ache,  and  limbs  that  toil. 

Lo  !  as  I  muse,  I  see  the  bristling  spears 
Of  thy  seed-bearing  stalks,  which  some,  thy  peers. 
Lift  o'er  their  iellows,  nodding  to  and  fro 
Their  lofty  foreheads  as  the  wild  winds  blow. 
And  think  thy  swarming  multitudes  a  host. 
Drawn  up  embattled  on  their  native  coast. 


90  VOICES   FROM    THE   MOUNTAINS. 

And  officer'd  for  war : — the  spearmen  free 
Kaising  their  weapons,  and  the  martial  bee 
Blowing  his  clarion,  while  some  poppy  tall 
Displays  the  blood-red  banner  over  all. 

Pleased  with  the  thought,  I  nurse  it  for  a  while, 
And  then  dismiss  it  with  a  faint  half-smile. 
And  next  I  fancy  thee  a  multitude. 
Moved  by  one  breath,  obedient  to  the  mood 
Of  one  strong  thinker — the  resistless  wind, 
That,  passing  o'er  thee,  bends  thee  to  its  mind. 
See  how  thy  blades,  in  myriads  as  they  grow, 
Turn  ever  eastward  as  the  west  winds  blow — 
Just  as  the  human  crowd  is  sway'd  and  bent, 
By  some  great  preacher,  madly  eloquent. 
Who  moves  them  at  his  will,  and  with  a  breath 
Gives  them  their  bias  both  in  life  and  death. 
Or  by  some  wondrous  actor,  when  he  draws 
All  eyes  and  hearts,  amid  a  hush'd  applause, 
Not  to  be  utter'd,  lest  delight  be  marr'd ; 
Or,  greater  still,  by  hymn  of  prophet-bard. 
Who  moulds  the  lazy  present  by  his  rhyme, 
And  sings  the  glories  of  a  future  time. 

And  ye  are  happy,  green  leaves,  every  one, 
Spread  in  your  countless  thousands  to  the  sun  ! 
Unlike  mankind,  no  solitary  blade 
Of  all  your  verdure  ever  disobey'd 
The  law  of  nature  :   every  stalk  that  lifts 
Its  head  above  the  mould,  enjoys  the  gifts 
Of  liberal  heaven — the  rain,  the  dew,  the  light ; 
And  points,  though  humbly,  to  the  Infinite; 


A   REVERIE   IN   THE   GRASS.  91 

And  every  leaf,  a  populous  world,  maintains 
Invisible  nations  on  its  wide-stretch'd  plains. 
So  great  is  littleness !  the  mind  at  fault 
Betwixt  the  peopled  leaf  and  starry  vault, 
Doubts  which  is  grandest,  and,  with  holy  awe, 
Adores  the  God  who  made  them,  and  whose  law 
Upholds  them  in  Eternity  or  Time, 
Greatest  and  least,  ineffably  sublime 


o^<sg;:^o^ 


92  VOICES   FEOil   THE   1I0UKTAIX3. 


LOVE  OR  WISDOM  ? 

"Were  I  so  mad  as  I  have  been  of  yore, 
I  would  be  happy :  mad  with  beauty's  eyes ; 
Mad  with  the  voice  of  one  I  could  adore, 
And  the  sweet  music  of  her  soft  replies  : 
Mad  with  the  charms  of  a  serene  bright  facC  ; 
Possess'd,  and  inly  haunted,  by  the  grace 
Of  some  fair  creature,  in  her  form  and  mind 
The  star  and  paragon  of  all  her  kind. 


For  if  I  were  so  happy-mad  again, 
I'd  live  anew.     I'd  feed  upon  delights  ; 
I'd  find  enraptured  frenzy  in  a  pain; 
I'd  roam,  dreaming  awake,  through  summer  nights. 
And  hear  a  murmuring  music  in  the  air, 
Which  I  would  harmonize  into  a  word — 
That  word  her  name.     I'd  kneel  with  forehead  bare. 
Out  in  the  solemn  woods,  unseen,  unheard, 
And  call  on  earth  to  bless  her  as  she  trod ; 
Sweet  winds  to  fan  her,  skies  to  drop  her  joy  ; 
And  would  invoke  the  providence  of  God 
To  keep  her  harmless,  not  let  care  annoy, 
"NoY  son^ow  vex,  nor  pleasure  pall  on  sense; 
My  being  hers,  hers  mine,  and  both  intense 


LOVE   OR   WISDOM?  93 

With  a  full,  throbbing,  rapturous,  infioite  bliss 

In  being  loved.     For  madness  such  as  this, 

I'd  give  up  wisdom  and  her  castled  clouds  ; 

I  would  unlearn  all  I  have  learn'd ;   give  back 

Experience,  and  the  blazoning  breath  of  crowds 

Wafting  Fame's  incense  forward  on  my  track. 

I  would  forego  all  hope,  and  all  desire 

But  one ;  that  life  might  be  a  blank  white  page. 

Where  Fate  might  write  one  word  of  heavenly  fire — • 

Love  :   that  so  breathing  the  delicious  rage. 

My  veins  might  run  it,  and  my  brain  might  take 

That  for  sole  impulse,  and  for  Love's  sweet  sake 

Nature  put  on  her  bridal  robes,  and  blush 

Beauty  upon  me  from  each  tree  and  flower ; 

And  in  her  nightly  gleam,  her  morning  flush. 

Her  buzzing  noon,  and  evening's  golden  hour, 

Converse  with  me  upon  the  one  great  theme 

With  all  her  voices ;    meadow,  mountain,  stream, 

Forest,  and  ocean,  uttering  but  one   sound 

Ever  and  ever  as  the  world  went  round. 

The  stars  repeating  it,  with  meanings  rife. 

And  that  word  Love  : — this  would  be  living  life  ! 


For  why?     And  wert  thou  in  that  fiery  craze 
So  happy,  that  thou  wouldst  indeed  recall 
What  thou  hast  seen,  done,  suffer'd  in  the  days 
When  thy  blood  boil'd,  and  thou  wert  passion  all  ? 
Poor  fool!  forgetful  of  departed  woes. 
Past  misery,  anguish,  discontent,  and  tears ; 
JVlindful  alone  of  pleasure  and  repose, 
Seen,  through  the  wave  of  the  refractive  years, 


94  VOICES  FROM   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

In  colours  not  tlieir  own.     When  Love  was  thine, 

Wert  thou  not  heart-sore  ?     Didst  thou  not  repine 

For  something  that  was  p-ast,  or  was  to  come? 

Was  not  that  day  as  wearisome  as  this? 

Its  music  stale?  Its  friendly  voices  dumb, 

And  thou  a  dreamer  of  remoter  bliss? 

Poor  fool !  to-morrow  thou  wilt  bless  to-day, 

And  wish  it  back;   and  with  a  new  disgust 

Think  of  the  newest  time,  till,  fled  away, 

It  leaves  thee  memory,  and  a  fresh  mistrust : 

And  so  thou  journeyest,  thankless,  to  the  dusfc. 

Be  not  so  mad  as  thou  hast  been  of  yore, 

Yet  happier  far.     Is  not  the  now  thine  own  ? 

Now  ever  present?  now  for  evermore? 

Now  always  with  thee,  but  its  worth  unknown, 

Or  lightly  thought  of?     Lay  its  mystery  bare, 

And  learn  the  mighty  secret  how  to  live; — 

Learn,  that  if  mind  be  pure,  the  world  is  fair; 

And  that  the  outer  sunshine  cannot  give 

Such  Warmth,  and  Joy,  and  Beauty,  as  the  light 

Cast  by  the  inner  spirit  infinite. 

When  it  is  clear  from  every  sensual  stain. 

Simple  and  thankful,  live  not  thou  in  vain, 

Nor  hurry  to  the  goal  with  desperate  haste 

To  make  the  present  past,  and  both  a  waste. 


-<K>><KO 


95 


FOLLOW  YOUR  LEADER. 

^^ Follow  your  leader!'''  So  said  Hope, 
In  the  joyous  days  when  I  was  young; 

O'er  meadow  path,  up  mountain-slope, 
Through  fragrant  woods,  I  follow'd  and  sung ; 

And  aye  in  the  sunny  air  she  smiled, 
Bright  as  the  cherub  in  Paphos  born. 

And  aye  my  soul  with  a  glance  she  wiled, 
And  tinged  all  earth  with  the  hues  of  morn. 

Long  she  led  me  o'er  hill  and  hollow, 
Through  rivers  wide,  o'er  mountains  dun, 

Till  she  soar'd  at  last  too  high  to  follow, 
And  scorch'd  her  pinions  in  the  sun. 

''Follow  your  leader F''  So  said  Love, 
Or  a  fairy  sporting  in  his  guise. 

I  follow'd,  to  lift  the  challenging  glove 
Of  many  a  maid  with  tell-tale  eyes. 

I  follow'd,  and  dream'd  of  young  delights, 
Of  passionate  kisses,  joyous  pains, 

Of  honey'd  words  in  sleepless  nights, 
And  amorous  tear-drops  thick  as  rains. 

But  ah  !  full  soon  the  frenzy  slacken'd ; 
There  came  a  darkness  and  dimm'd  the  ray. 

The  passion  cool'd,  the  sunshine  blacken'd, 
I  lost  the  glory  of  my  day. 


90  VOICES   FEOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

^^  Follow  your  leader  P'^  So  said  Fame, 
In  the  calmer  hours  of  my  fruitful  noon. 

O'er  briery  paths,  through  frost,  through  flame, 
By  torrent,  and  swamp,  and  wild  lagoon. 

Ever  she  led  me,  and  ever  I  went. 
With  bleeding  feet  and  sun-brown  skin, 

Eager  ever  and  uncontent, 
As  long  as  life  had  a  prize  to  win. 

But  Dead-Sea  apples  alone  she  gave  me, 
To  recompense  me  for  my  pain, 

And  still  though  her  luring  hand  she  gave  me, 
I  may  not  follow  her  steps  again. 


^'Follow  your  leader f''  So  said  Gold, 
Ere  the  brown  of  my  locks  gave  place  to  grey. 

I  could  not  follow — her  looks  were  cold ; 
Icy  and  brittle  was  the  way; 

And  Gold  spread  forth  her  wiles  in  vain  ; 
So  taking  Power  to  aid  her  spell, 

^'Follow  your  leaders!^''  exclaim'd  the  twain, 
"  For  where  we  go  shall  pleasure  dwell." 

I  follow'd,  and  follow'd,  till  age  came  creeping, 
And  silver'd  the  hair  on  my  aching  head, 

And  /  lamented,  in  vigils  weeping, 
A  youth  misspent,  and  a  prime  misled. 


"Follow  your  leader P^  I  hear  a  voice. 
Whispering  to  my  soul  this  hour ; — 

"Who  follows  my  light  shall  for  ever  rejoice, 
Nor  crave  the  perishing  arm  of  Powee; 


FOLLOW   YOUR   LEADER.  97 

Who  follows  my  steps  shall  for  ever  hold 
^V  blessing  purer  than  earthly  love, 

Brighter  than  Fame,  richer  than  Goii) — 
So  follow  my  light  and  look  above." 

'Tis  late  to  turn,  but  refuse  I  may  not, 
My  trustful  eyes  are  heavenwards  cast, 

And  ever  the  sweet  voice  says,  '■^  Delay  not, 
Fm  thy  first  leader  and  thy  last" 

'Tis  the  friend  of  my  youth  come  back  again, 
Sober'd  and  chasten'd — but  lovelier  far 

Than  when  in  those  days  of  sun  and  rain 
She  shone  in  my  path  as  a  guiding  star. 

She  led  me  then,  a  wayward  boy, 
To  things  of  Earth,  and  never  of  Heaven, 

But  now  she  whispers  diviner  joy, 
Of  errors  blotted,  of  sins  forgiven. 

To  a  purpling  sky  she  points  her  finger, 
As  westward  wearily  I  plod. 

And  while  I  follow  her  steps,  I  linger, 
Calm  as  herself,  in  the  faith  of  God. 


— i^:^</oS^^??g^^fc:> — 


98  VOICES   FEOM    THE   MOUNTAINS. 


THE  DEATH  BANQUET  OF  THE  GIRONDINS. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

"  The  Giroridins  spent  the  last  night  of  their  captivity  in  the 
great  dungeon — that  Hall  of  Death.  The  tribunal  had  ordered 
that  the  still  warm  corpse  of  Valazd  should  be  taken  back  to  the 
prison,  carried  on  the  same  cart  with  his  accomplices  to  the 
place  of  execution,  and  buried  with  them.  *  *  The  gendarmes 
placed  the  body  in  a  corner  of  the  prison.  The  Girondins,  one 
after  the  other,  kissed  the  heroic  hand  of  their  friend.  They 
covered  his  face  with  his  mantle.  *  To  morrow  ! '  said  they  to 
the  corpse  ;  and  they  gathered  their  strength  for  the  coming  day. 
It  was  near  midnight.  The  deputy  Bailleul,  proscribed  like  them, 
but  concealed  in  Paris,  had  promised  to  send  them  from  without, 
on  the  day  of  their  judgment,  a  last  repast—  of  triumph  or  of  death, 
according  as  they  might  be  acquitted  or  condemned.  By  the  help 
ot  a  friend,  he  kept  his  word.  The  funeral  supper  was  spread  in 
the  great  dungeon.  Costly  viands,  rare  wines,  flowers,  and  lights 
covered  the  oak  table  of  the  prison.  *  *  The  meal  lasted  till 
the  dawn  of  day.  Vergniaud,  seated  near  the  centre  of  the 
table,  presided  with  the  same  calm  dignity  which  he  had  pre- 
served during  the  night  of  the  10th  of  August,  while  presiding 
over  the  Convention.  The  guests  ate  and  drank  with  sobriety 
— merely  to  recruit  their  strength.  Their  discourse  was  grave 
and  solemn,  though  not  sad.  Many  of  them  spoke  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul  and  expressed  their  belief  in  a  future 
state." — Lamartine's  History  of  the  Girondins. 

"The  last  night  of  the  Girondins  was  sublime.  Vergniaud 
was  provided  with  poison.  He  threw  it  away  that  he  might  die 
with  his  friends.  They  took  a  last  meal  together,  at  which  they 
were   by   turns    merry,    serious,  and    eio<^uent.      Brissot   and 


DEATH   BANQUET    OF   THE   GIRONDIXS.  91) 

Gensonne  were  grave  and  pensive.  Vergniaud  spoke  of  expiring 
liberty  in  the  noblest  terras  of  regret,  and  of  the  destination  of 
man  with  persuasive  eloquence.  Ducos  repeated  verses  which 
he  had  composed  in  prison  ;  and  they  all  joined  in  singing 
hymns  to  France  and  Tjiherty,"— Thiers' s  Histwy  of  the  Fixnch 
Revolution. 

VERGNIAUD. 

Never  despair  of  goodness  :  men  are  bad, 
But  have  been  worse.     The  badness  shall  die  out ; 
The  goodness,  like  the  thistle-down,  shall  float, 
Bearing  a  germ  beneath  its  tiny  car — 
A  germ  predestined  to  become  a  tree, 
To  fall  on  fruitful  soil,  and  on  its  boughs 
Bear  seed  enough  to  stock  the  universe. 
Never  despair  of  Freedom  :  though  we  die 
In  cruel  martyrdom  most  undeserved, 
What  matters  it,  if  Truth  survive  our  bones  ? 
No  my  dear  brothers,  we  shall  not  despair. 
Now  or  hereafter,  for  ourselves  or  men ; 
For  we  are  sorrow-proof;    our  souls  have  borne 
All  the  worst  ills  that  can  afflict  the  just. 
We  can  sit  down  in  strength  of  virtuous  will, 
And  dare  all  malice  and  all  power  of  men 
To  add  ODe  mental  pang  to  bodily  death, 
Or  rob  us  of  the  smallest  privilege 
That  appertains  to  our  humanity. 
They  may  manure  their  gardens  with  our  flesh. 
And  decompose  our  scaffolding  of  bones, 
But  cannot  harm  us,  cannot  touch  the  /, 
The  Thou,  that  dwells  in  clay  receptacle, 
Yast,  awful,  inaccessible,  alone, 
And  indestructible  as  earth  or  heaven. 
H  2 


100  VOICES   FJaOM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

BRISSOT. 

Would  we  could  summon  our  poor  Yalaze 
To  visit  us,  and  his  forsaken  corpse 
Which  bears  us  now  such  mournful  company  1 
What  secrets  he  could  tell  us  if  he  might ! 
Perchance  even  now  he  listens  to  our  words, 
And  shares  our  sorrows  as  he  shared  before. 

SILLERY. 

I  do  propose  that  in  a  solemn  pledge 
Over  this  wine  we  bear  our  love  to  him — 
The  soul  of  Yalaz6,  if  soul  he  have, 
Outliving  its  poor  garb  of  flesh  and  bone, 
Or  I,  or  thou,  or  any  piece  of  dust 
That  walks  on  legs  and  calls  itself  a  man ; 
Here's  to  his  memory ! — and  if  he  live, 
May  he  be  happy  in  the  light  of  heaven ! 

BRISSOT. 

Dear  Valaze  !    'tis  pleasant  to  my  soul. 

For  soul  /  have,  coeval  with  its  God, 

To  think  that  he  is  with  us  at  this  hour ; 

FilFd  with  the  virtuous  joy  that  shall  be  ours, 

Soon  as  the  bloody  knife  has  done  its  work 

In  opening  the  door  'twixt  earth  and  heaven, 

And  letting  us  go  free. 

LASOURCE. 

Free  of  the  earth  perhaps,  but  free  as  gods? 
To  love,  to  know,  to  labour,  to  aspire  ? 


DEATH   BANQUET   OF  THE   GIRONDINS.  101 

They  say  that  Heaven  is  full  beatitude, 

Bliss  infinite  and  yet  a  bliss  complete, 

Sum  of  all  hopes  and  crown  of  a^l '  desirQ. - 

I  would  not  pass  into  a  stagnaiit  heaven, 

For  ever  singing  psalms  and  saying' pr a Wrs. '  ],}  ]'\'l 

Ah,  no !    the  heaven  that  my  spirit  craves. 

If  place  it  be,  and  not  a  state  of  mind, 

Is  place  for  progress — infinite  as  God. 

There  is  no  good  but  effort.     Paradise, 

With  nothing  to  be  done,  would  be  to  me 

Worse  than  the  blackest  Hell  that  Dante  drew, 

Or  English  Milton  in  his  awful  song. 

DUCOS. 

What   work   wouldst   do?     Wouldst   like   to   strive 

in  Heaven 
With  Eobespierres  or  Dantons?    or  wouldst  go 
Down  to  the  other  place  to  battle  there? 

LASOURCE. 

As  for  the  other  place,  there  is  no  Hell 
But  that  which  dwells  in  the  ungodly  soul — 
A  Hell  eternal  as  the  soul  itself. 
But  for  the  virtuous  and  aspiring  mind 
There  is  no  task  more  adequate  to  Heaven 
Tiian  war  with  Error.     Light  was  only  made 
To  change  the  alien  Darkness  to  itself; 
Love  but  to  conquer  and  extinguish  Hate. 

CARRA. 

I  have  two  doubts ;    but  to  my  tranquil  mind 
Each  is  a  comfort.     If  perchance  I  go 


102  VOICES   FROM    THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Out  of  this  body  and  remain  myself, 

I  feel  that  God  is  good,  and  that  this  self 

Bha'U  not'  bfe'danm'd:  whatever  bigots  feign, 

But  shall  enjt)/  uHfe'  infinitude  of  love. 

j^ii(J  if  I*  go  not  hence^ — if  I  am  this — 

Thi^  bag  of  joihts,  and  arteries,  and  flesh — 

!^^othiDg  besides — and  consciousness  expires 

When  the  lungs  cease  their  functions,  and  the  heart 

Sends  to  the  pulse  the  living  stream  no  more. 

There  is  nor  disappointment,  grief,  nor  pain, 

In  thought  of  nothingness.     I've  lived  my  life, 

And  can  go  down  to  Death  without  a  pang, 

And  think  annihilation  bliss  indeed. 


DUCOS. 

/  not.     I  take  an  interest  in  things. 

And  would  be  glad  to  learn  the  fate  of  France, 

For  whose  dear  sake  we  die  to-morrow  morn  ; 

And  if  the  "  incorruptible "  corrupt 

And  bloody  Robespierre  shall  'scape  the  toils 

He  sets  for  us.     I  should  be  glad  to  know 

How  long  the  savage  hounds  that  lap  our  blood 

Shall  offer  up  such  holocausts  to  Hate, 

As  we  shall  be  ere  shines  another  sun. 

Nor  that  alone ; — I  should  rejoice  to  see 

What  great  new  poets  shall  arise  with  Time, 

What  famous  plays  and  mighty  play-actors 

Shall  draw  the  tears  from  lovely  ladies'  eyes. 

Or  dimple  their  sweet  cheeks  to  heavenly  smiles; 

What  new  discoveries  shall  yet  be  made. 

Greater  than  printing  or  than  gunpowder; 


DEATH   BANQUET    OF   THE   GIRONDINS.  103 

And  what  shall  be  the  fashion  of  men's  beards 
And  young  girls'  petticoats  a  century  hence  ; 
How  long  the  French  Republic  shall  endure, 
And  whether  any  Cromwell  shall  arise 
To  turn  our  troubles  to  his  own  account ; 
Or,  worst  of  all,  whether  the  Capet  race 
Shall  mount  the  throne  again,  to  play  the  fool, 
And  drive  humanity  a  century  back ; 
And  whether  Catholic  and  Protestant 
Shall  hate  each  other  in  the  days  to  come, 
And  do  foul  murder  for  the  love  of  God, 
As  they  have  done  since  Luther  was  a  priest. 

FONFREDE. 

And  so  should  I ;  but  not  alone  to  know. 

To  see  the  miseries  of  this  poor  world, 

Without  the  power  to  aid  in  their  relief, 

Would  be  indeed  as  bad  as  pitchy  hell, 

And  worms  that  die  not,  and  tormenting  fiends. 

No,  no,  Ducos ;  if  we  return  at  all, 

We  shall  return  refresh'd,  and  play  a  part. 

VERGNIAUD. 

Keep  to  thy  thought,  Fonfrede,  and  lose  it  not ; 
The  soul,  partaker  of  Divinity, 
Must  be  partaker  of  Infinity — 
Must  know  alike  the  secrets  of  all  space. 
And  of  this  little  grain  of  rolling  sand 
That  we  are  born  upon.     Yes,  we  shall  see, 
Clear  as  a  book,  the  riddle  of  the  world  ; 
We  shall  repeat  the  watchword  of  the  stars; 


104  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUKTAIXS. 

We  shall  drink  in  divine  enravishment, 
As  full  upon  us  burst  the  harmonies 
Of  rolling  planets,  systems,  firmaments. 
The  key-note  of  the  music  shall  be  plain, 
And  we  shall  strike  it  whenso'er  we  will, 
And  add  to  infinite  Joy,  Love  infinite. 

FAUCHET. 

If  we  are  worthy.     Not  to  every  soul 
Such  love  and  joy  as  thou  depicturest. 
Freed  from  its  earthly  shell,  th'  eternal  mind 
Must  struggle  there,  as  it  has  struggled  here, 
Upward,  still  upward,  with  incessant  toil, 
To  make  itself  partaker  of  the  bliss, 
That  in  a  widening  circle  God  hath  spread 
Through  His  inefiable  eternity. 

SILLERY. 

Is  talking,  struggling?     For  I  trust,  dear  friend. 

There  will  be  talking  in  the  other  world, 

And  that  we  twenty-one  now  supping  here, 

Discoursing  mistily  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Shall  have  a  nobler  banquet  in  the  sky, 

And  better  talk  in  better  company. 

To-morrow  night ; — banquet  of  heavenly  fruits, 

Ambrosia,  nectar,  manna,  wine  of  gods. 

And  converse  with  the  mighty  men  of  yore  : — 

Socrates,  Plato,  Buddha,  Mahomet, 

Homer,  Anacreon,  Euripides, 

Ovid  and  Dante,  Shakspeare  and  Corneille, 

With  Csesar,  Antony,  and  Constantine, 


DEATH   BANQUET   OF  THE  GIRONDINS.  105 

With  Cleopatra,  Hero,  Helena, 

Eve,  and  Semiramis,  and  Joan  of  Arc, 

And  a  whole  host  of  the  undying  dead — 

Sages,  philosophers,  and  ancient  kings. 

Bards,  statesmen,  actors,  dancing  girls,  and  wits, 

And  most  beloved,  our  brother  Yalaze, 

Gone  as  a  herald  to  announce  the  doom 

Of  three  times  seven  unconquerable  souls, 

Coming  to  join  him  ere  the  world  goes  round, 

Or  the  next  twilight  deepens  into  day. 

LASOUllCE. 

What  ails  our  friend,  our  brother  Vergniaud  ? 
His  gaze  is  lix'd  upon  vacuity — 
He  hears  us  not — he  looks,  but  sees  us  not. 
Kind  sleep  has  thrown  her  mantle  over  him, 
And  in  his  slumber  flow  unbidden  tears. 

rONFREDE. 

I  could  weep  with  him.     Here  we  sit  and  talk 
Of  heaven  and  hell,  unloosing  knotty  points. 
Or  grappling  with  them,  but  to  make  the  coil 
A  worse  entanglement — forgetting  France, 
And  those  who  love  us.     I've  not  shed  a  tear, 
But  I  could  weep  a  flood,  and  in  each  drop 
Pay  tribute  to  my  own  humanity, 
Which  blushes  for  me,  that  I  should  forget, 
In  these  last  hours,  my  few,  my  faithful  friends ; 
And  she,  the  dear  companion  of  my  soul — 
My  love — my  better  life — that  prays  for  me 
In  solitude  and  sorrow;  or,  perchance, 


106  VOICES    FROM   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

Watches  outside  these  very  walls,  and  weeps. 
The  tears  are  gathering  in  my  eyes  for  her, 
And  they  must  flow,  or  make  my  heart  a  wreck. 


VERGNIAUD. 

Let  the  flood  burst :  tears  are  the  wine  of  grief, 

And  will  inspire  thee  more  than  sparkling  Ai 

Can  stir  the  pulses  of  a  bacchanal. 

I  crave  no  pardon  for  the  tears  I've  shed, 

The  latest  luxury  that  I  shall  taste. 

In  one  short  minute  I  have  lived  a  life, 

Felt  all  my  joys,  and  suffer'd  all  my  woes ; 

Loved  all  my  loves,  hoped  all  my  hopes,  despaired 

All  the  despairs  that  ever  dull'd  my  sense  ; 

Spoken  my  speeches,  stirr'd  a  listening  land 

In  name  of  freedom  and  the  rights  of  men, 

Ending  this  cosmorama  of  my  days 

By  weeping  on  the  breast  of  her  I  love 

The  tears  you  saw  me  shed — the  tears  whose  flow 

Kefresh'd  my  heated  brain,  and  bore  me  back 

To  consciousness  of  now,  which  I  had  lost. 


GENSONNE. 

Even,  so  with  me.     I  have  been  living  lives 
In  minutes  since  our  festival  began. 
Aye  as  the  sands  grows  scanty  in  the  glass 
Of  unrelenting  Time,  the  falling  grain 
Exceeds  in  value  all  that  went  before, 
And  years  of  feeling  load  the  back  of  each. 


DEATH    BANQUET   OF   THE   GIRONDINS.  107 

Five  minutes  past  I  was  a  little  child — 

I  roam'd  in  meadows,  gathering  violets, 

I  bathed  my  tiny  feet  in  running  streams, 

I  strutted  o'er  the  sward  with  martial  drum, 

I  conn'd  my  painful  lesson  in  the  school, 

I  nestled  in  my  little  sister's  breast. 

And  fell  asleep,  my  arms  entwining  her. 

And  then  I  grew  into  a  thoughtful  boy, 

Full  of  high  projects  and  intense  desires — 

Passion  and  folly,  wisdom  and  romance, 

Ruling  my  soul  by  turns.     Another  grain 

Dropp'd  in  the  glass,  and,  lo  !  I  was  a  man 

Fill'd  with  ambition  and  desire  of  fame, 

Raising  my  voice  above  the  popular  din, 

To  swell  the  rallying  cry  of  ceaseless  war 

To  royal  tyranny  and  feudal  wrong. 

Another  grain   dropp'd  through,  and  I  was  wed, 

And  lived  long  years  of  bridal  happiness. 

I  built  my  house  upon  a  hill )  I  plann'd 

Gardens  and  orchards,  parks  and  sloping  lawns, 

And  fled  from  clash  of  modern  politics 

To  ancient  lore  and  calm  philosophy. 

Another  grain,  and  all  the  visions  fled. 

I  braved  false  judges  in  the  judgment-seat. 

Dishonouring  judgment  and  the  name  of  man  ; 

Defied  them  to  their  teeth,  and  dared  to  die 

And  leave  my  fate  a  legacy  to  Time. 

All  this,  and  more,  unwinding  like  a  scroll. 

Has  pass'd  before  me  at  this  feast  of  death. 

Even  as  I  talk'd,  and  drank,  and  laugh'd  with  you. 

A  double  consciousness — an  added  self 

Swathed  me  all  o'er,  as  glory  swathes  a  saint. 


108  VOICES    FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

DUCOS. 

Thy  visions  have  been  brave,  dear  Gensonne. 

/  have  been  thinking  of  my  mistresses, 

Eulalie,  Marie,  Gabrielle,  Fifine — 

Who  loved  me  first — who  last — and  who  the   best ; 

And  whether  one  of  them  to-morrow  morn 

Will  give  a  last  and  solitary  thought 

To  me^  a  man  defrauded  of  my  head, 

Having  no  property  in  my  own  life, 

And  lost  to  them  for  loving  liberty, 

And  daring  to  interpret  for  myself 

What  meant  the  name. 

SILLERY. 

Didst  love  the  four  at  once  1   or  two  by  two  1 
Or  didst  thou  take  the  darlings  one  by  one? 
Or  love  this  liberty  still  more  than  them  ? 
In  either  case  why  should  they  weep  for  thee, 
So  loose  and  fickle  in  thy  preference? 
And  yet  'tis  sweet  to  know  a  woman  sighs 
For  our  distresses,  and  would  share  them  all, 
If  sharing  would  relieve.     Fill  up  again — 
We  grow  lugubrious.     /,  that  ever  laugh'd, 
Crutch-ridden  and  decrepit  as  I  am, 
At  nightly  comedy,  and  daily  farce, 
Play'd  in  all  places — forum,  palace,  street, 
In  church  and  tavern,  attic  or  saloon — 
Must  not  be  tragic,  ev'n  though  dungeon-walls 
Shut  from  my  vision  that  stupendous  farce, 
The  rolling  earth.     Fill  to  the  brim  your  cups. 
We'll  toast  our  friends,  our  wives,  our  mistresses. 


DEATH    BANQUET    OF   THE   GIRONDINS.  109 

VERGNIAUD. 

God  bless  the  maid  whose  image  fills  my  soul, 

The  incarnation  of  all  purity — 

All  modesty — all  loveliness — all  grace, 

My  own  heart's  partner — my  betrothed  wife  ; — 

Never  to  see  me  in  this  mortal  state — 

Never  to  these  pale,  faithful  lips  of  mine 

To  give  the  answering  kiss  of  plighted  truth  ! 

God  shower  His  blessings  on  her  !     May  she  live, 

Unscath'd,  in  all  the  perils  of  the  time. 

And  love  of  me  be  thought  no  crime  in  her 

By  those  who  wield  the  destinies  of  France, 

And  slay  the  innocent ! 

FAUCHET. 

Amen,  Amen — for  her,  and  all  we  love  ! 

DUCOS. 

We  grow  too  serious.     If  we  ransack  thus 

The  stores  of  memory  for  joys  bygone, 

For  hopes  decay'd,  and  loves  for  ever  lost, 

We  shall  unman  ourselves,  and  yield  our  breath 

Like  love-sick  maidens,  who  in  deep  decline. 

Aye  prattle  prettily  of  moonlit  seas, 

Fresh  flowers,  green  meads,  and  shady  forest-walks, 

To  the  last  moment  of  their  artless  lives. 

In  my  philosophy  there  are  no  tears. 

No  sighs,  no  groans,  no  useless  fond  regrets, 

But  a  stout  heart,  and  laughter  to  the  last. 


110  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

{Sings.) 
THE  CAP  AND  BELLS. 

Did  you  ever  trust  a  friend, 

And  when  cheated  trust  him  morel 
Ever  seek  to  gain  your  end, 

Knocking  at  a  rich  man's  door? 
Do  you  trust  your  Doris  fair, 

When  her  tale  of  love  she  tells  1 
You  deserve  the  cap  you  vi^ear. 

Jingle,  jangle — shake  your  bells  ! 

Think  you  that  the  men  are  wise 

Who  embark  in  public  strife  ] 
Or  their  judgment  do  you  prize 

Who  for  country  risk  their  life? 
Truth's  existence  could  you  swear? 

Or  affirm  where  honour  dwells? 
You  deserve  the  cap  you  wear, 

Jingle,  jangle — shake  your  bells ! 

FONFREDE. 

The  voice  is  good — the  singer,  my  good  friend — 

The  manner  perfect,  but  the  song  itself 

A  baseless  libel.     Try  again.  Duces, 

And  give  us  something  in  a  nobler  mood. 

We  may  not  die  with  falsehood  on  our  tongues, 

And  gibes  and  sneers  curvetting  on  our  lips. 

DUCOS. 

If  like  a  swan,  I  must  expire  in  song, 
Hear  my  death  anthem.     Join  it  if  you  wilL 


DEATH    BANQUET   OF   THE   GIRONDINS.  Ill 

THE  GREY  OWL. 

The  grey  owl  sat  on  the  belfry-leads, 

And  look'd  o'er  the  Seine  to  the  place  of  heads, 

Over  the  Seine  to  the  Place  de  Greve. 

The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying  ; 

The  moonlight  streamed  o'er  the  abbey-nave, 
Over  the  house-tops  silently  lying 
White  as  the  mist  when  the  morn  is  new ; 
And  aye  the  owl,  so  solemn  of  look. 
The  speckled  grey  of  his  plumage  shook. 
And  screecKd  in  tlie  turret — tu  wheet,  tu  whoo  ! 

Clear  and  full  the  moonlight  swam 
Around  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame, 

And  tinged  on  the  Greve  the  guillotine — 
The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying — 

When  a  cry  was  heard  the  gusts  between, 
A  moan  for  the  dead,  and  not  for  the  dying. 
Dolefully  sounding  the  faubourgs  through. 

'Twas  the  howl  of  a  dog  for  his  master  slain, 

And  the  grey  owl  flapp'd  his  wings  again, 
And  screeched  in  tlie  turret — tu  wheet,  tu  whoo  ! 

He  flapp'd  his  wings  and  away  he  lurch'd 
Over  the  Seine,  and,  resting,  perch'd 

On  the  high  cross-beam  of  the  guillotine-top. 
The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying — 

The  tail  of  the  howling  hound  did  drop 
As  he  saw,  through  the  pallid  moonlight  flying, 
The  doleful  bird  loom  into  his  view ; 


112  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

He  ceased  his  moan  and  slunk  away, 
And  the  old  owl  rustled  his  pinions  grey, 
A  ml  screeclid  from  the  scaffold — tu  wheel,  tu  whoo  ! 

"  Hurra  !"  quoth  he,  as  the  creature  ran ; 

^'What  right  have  dogs  to  moan  for  man, 
Or  of  love  like  this  to  make  pretence?" 

The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying. 

*'  Such  canine  truth  is  a  foul  offence ; 

For  if  every  fool  on  the  guillotine  dying. 

Had  a  friend  like  this  to  howl  and  rue. 
Their  noise  would  drown  the  people's  roar 
When  it  tasted  blood  and  clamour'd  for  more." 

And  the  grey  owl  screeched — tu  wheel,  tu  whoo  ! 

"I  wot  that  to-morrow's  sun  shall  see 
The  death  of  a  goodly  company — 

I  trust  no  dogs  will  howl  for  them." 
The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying. 

"  Two-and-twenty  we  condemn — 
One  has  escaped  from  the  shame  of  dying, 
Open'd  a  door  and  glided  through ; 

Yet  two-and-tweuty  heads  in  all 

Under  the  bloody  knife  shall  fall." 
And  the  grey  owl  screech' d — tu  wheel,  tu  ivhoo  ! 

"Many  shall  follow  them  day  by  day, 
The  harvest-time  shall  not  delay — 

The  headsman's  harvest,  so  ripe,  so  red.'' 
The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying — 

"I  know  the  name  of  each  sentenced  head — 
Danton,  the  harsh  and  death-defying — 


DEATH   BANQUET   OF  THE   GIRONDINS.  113 

All  his  friends  that  think  him  true — 
Brutal  and  greedy  Pere  Duchesne, 
With  all  his  comrades,  all  his  train." 

And  the  grey  owl  screecKd — tu  wheet,  to  wJioo  ! 

*'And  after  a  while  a  greater  still 

Shall  tread  the  road,  shall  climb  the  hill, 

Amid  the  shouts  of  the  changeful  crowd" — 
The  winds  were  sighing,  the  trees  replying. 
"And  shall  headless  sleep  in  a  bloody  shroud. 
Hated  in  life,  accursed  in  dying. 
He  shall  meet  the  doom  of  the  twenty-two; 

And  his  name  shall  live  the  world  to  scare — 

'Tis  Robespierre!  'tis  Robespierre!" 
And  the  grey  owl  screech' d — tu  wheet,  tu  whool 

SILLERY. 

Who  is  your  owl,  Ducos? — the  embodied  soul 

Of  Marat  visiting  the  earth  again? 

Whoe'er  he  be,  his  prophecies  are  safe, 

And  through  the  glooms  of  Time  his  eyes  can  see 

About  as  clearly  as  some  men's,  I  know. 

Tis  a  brave  bird,  Ducos,  and  speaks  the  truth, 

'Although  his  voice  is  harsh,  his  truth  a  fear. 

And  deeds  of  blood  his  too  familiar  thought. 

LASOURCE. 

Behold  the  dawn :   it  breaks  upon  the  world. 
How  at  this  hour  the  oceans  sport  their  waves, 
And  turn  their  frothy  ringlets  to  the  light, 
And  all  the  peaks  of  Alps  and  Apennines 


114  VOICES   FROM   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Catch  on  their  snowy  heights  the  ruddy  gold, 

The  silver,  and  the  purple,  and  the  grey. 

And  all  the  glory  of  its  majesty. 

The  ancient  forests  shake  their  lordly  boughs. 

And  pay  obeisance  to  the  rising  morn ; 

The  green  fields  smile,  dew  glistening,  in  its  face> 

The  distant  towns  and  villages  awake. 

The  milk-maid  sings,  the  cow-boy  winds  his  horn, 

And  lowing  cattle  climb  the  sunward  hills. 

The  twin  grey  towers  of  ancient  !N'6tre  Dame 

Are  gilded  with  a  smile,  like  hoary  age 

Kelaxing  to  behold  an  infant's  play. 

Ay,  even  the  gory  guillotine  receives 

The  splendour  of  the  morning,  and  the  slave 

Drinks  of  the  sunshine  freely  as  the  free. 

"What  beauty  compasses  the  teeming  world ! 

What  hideous  spectacles  ungrateful  men 

Throw  in  its  face,  to  tire  it  of  itself ! 

Beautiful  morn !  my  blessing  upon  day ! 

SILLERY. 

And  mine — if  worth  acceptance.     But  behold, 

The  gaoler  comes — our  feast  is  at  an  end ; 

The  death-bell  tolls.     Time  fades  to  nothingness ; 

The  hideous  dream  of  life  draws  to  its  close ; 

The  morning  of  Eternity  is  near. 

Let  us  arise  and  wake  like  healthful  men. 

FAUCHET. 

May  God  have  mercy  on  us,  and  forgive 
Our  enemies,  as  we  forgive  them  now. 


DEATH   BANQUET   OF   THE   GIRONDINS.  115 


VERGNIAUD. 


Farewell,  dear  brothers — farewell,  friends  beloved. 

The  victims  of  a  fearful  tyranny 

We  die,  but  leave  our  names  an  heritage 

That  France  shall  wear,  and  boast  of  to  the  world. 


THE  END. 


PRINTED   BY   COX  AND   WYMAN,   GREAT  QUEEN   STREET,    LONDON. 


xm  ixm  t\t  Crfffoir,  &t. 


Wim  from  th  Crofoir. 


THE   WATCHER   ON   THE  TOWEE. 

"  What  dost  thou  see,  lone  watcher  on  the  tower  1 
Is  the  day  breaking?  comes  the  wish'd-for  hour? 
Tell  us  the  signs,  and  stretch  abroad  thy  hand 
If  the  bright  morning  dawns  upon  the  land." 

^'  The  stars  are  clear  above  me,  scarcely  one 
Has  dimm'd  its  rays  in  reverence  to  the  sun  ; 
But  yet  I  see,  on  the  horizon's  verge, 
Some  fair,  faint  streaks,  as  if  the  light  would  surge." 

"  Look  forth  again,  O  watcher  on  the  tower — 
The  people  wake,  and  languish  for  the  hour ; 
Long  have  they  dwelt  in  darkness,  and  they  pine 
For  the  full  daylight  which  they  know  must  sliine." 

"I  see  not  well — the  morn  is  cloudy  still. — 
There  is  a  radiance  on  the  distant  hill ; 
Even  as  I  watch  the  glory  seems  to  grow; 
But  the  stars  blink,  and  the  night  breeze?  blow." 
B 


2  TQICES   J^IROM   THE   CROWD. 

^'  And  i^  tligt;  all,  O  watcher  on  the  tower  ? 
Look  forth  again ;  it  must  be  near  the  hour. 
Dost  thou  not  see  the  snowy  mountain-copes, 
And  the  greenwoods  beneath  them  on  the  slopes  l*^ 

"A  mist  envelopes  them  ;  I  cannot  trace 

Their  outline ;  but  the  day  comes  on  apace. 

The  clouds  roll  up  in  gold  and  amber  flakes, 

And  all  the  stars  grow  dim.     The  morning  breaks.*^ 

"We  thank  thee,  lonely  watcher  on  the  tower; 
But  look  again  ;  and  tell  us,  hour  by  hour, 
All  thou  beholdest.     Many  of  us  die 
Ere  the  day  comes ;  oh,  give  us  a  reply  1'* 

"  I  see  the  hill-tops  now ;  and  Chanticleer 
Crows  his  prophetic  carol  on  mine  ear; — 
I  see  the  distant  woods  and  fields  of  corn. 
And  Ocean  gleaming  in  the  light  of  morn." 

"  Again — again — O  watcher  on  the  tower  I 
"We  thirst  for  daylight,  and  we  bide  the  hour. 
Patient,  but  longing.     Tell  us,  shall  it  be 
A  bright,  calm,  glorious  daylight  for  the  freeT' 

"  I  hope,  but  cannot  tell.     I  hear  a  song, 
Yivid  as  day  itself,  and  clear  and  strong, 
As  of  a  lark — young  prophet  of  the  noon — 
Pouring  in  sunlight  his  seraphic  tune." 

"What  doth  he  say,  O  watcher  on  the  tower? 
Is  he  a  prophet  ?     Doth  the  dawning  hour 


THE   WATCHER   ON   THE  TOWER.  3 

Inspire  his  music?     Is  his  chant  sublime, 
Fill'd  with  the  glories  of  the  Future  time  ?" 

"  He  prophesies  ; — his  heart  is  full ; — ^his  lay- 
Tells  of  the  brightness  of  a  peaceful  day; 
A  day  not  cloudless,  nor  devoid  of  storm, 
But  sunny  for  the  most,  and  clear  and  warm." 

''  We  thank  thee,  watcher  on  the  lonely  tower, 
For  all  thou  tellest.     Sings  he  of  an  hour 
When  Error  shall  decay,  and  Truth  grow  strong, 
And  Right  shall  rule  supreme  and  vanquish  Wrong?" 

"He  sings  of  brotherhood,  and  joy,  and  peace, 
Of  days  when  jealousies  and  hate  shall  cease  : 
When  war  shall  die,  and  man's  progressive  mind 
Soar  as  unfetter'd  as  its  God  design'd." 

"  Well  done  !  thou  watcher  on  the  lonely  tower ! 
Is  the  day  breaking  ?  dawns  the  happy  hour  ? 
We  pine  to  see  it : — tell  us,  yet  again, 
If  the  broad  daylight  breaks  upon  the  plain  1 " 

"  It  breaks — it  comes — the  misty  shadows  fly  : — 
A  rosy  radiance  gleams  upon  the  sky ; 
The  mountain-tops  reflect  it  calm  and  clear ; 
The  plain  is  yet  in  shade,  but  day  is  near." 


b2 


VOICES  FAOM  TUU  OIIOWD* 


CLEAR  THE  WAY. 

Men  of  thought  I  be  up,  and  stirring 

Night  and  day : 
Sow  the  seed — "withdraw  the  curtain — 

Clear  the  way! 
Men  of  action,  aid  and  cheer  them, 

As  ye  may ! 
There's  a  fount  about  to  stream, 
There's  a  light  about  to  beam, 
There's  a  warmth  about  to  glow. 
There's  a  flower  about  to  blow  ; 
Tlioro'H  a  midnight  blackness  changing 

Into  gray; 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Olkau  tub  way  ! 

Once  the  welcome  light  has  broken. 

Who  shall  say 
What  the  unimagined  glories 

Of  the  day  1 
What  the  evil  that  shall  perish 

In  its  ray ) 
Aid  the  dawning,  tongue  and  pen ; 
Aid  it,  hopes  of  honest  men ; 
Aid  it,  paper — aid  it,  type- 
Aid  it|  for  the  hour  is  ripei 


CLEAR  THE   WAY. 

And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken 

Into  play. 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way! 

Lo  !  a  cloud 's  about  to  vanish 

From  the  day; 
And  a  brazen  wrong  to  crumble 

Into  clay. 
Lo !  the  right 's  about  to  conquer 

Clear  the  way! 
With  the  Right  shall  many  more 
Enter  smiling  at  the  door ; 
With  the  giant  Wrong  shall  fall 
Many  others,  great  and  small, 
That  for  ages  long  have  held  us 

For  their  prey. 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way  ! 


*-OC^S)a»A>5>- 


VOICES   FROM   THE  CROWD. 


THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
We  may  not  live  to  see  the  day, 
But  earth  shall  glisten  in  the  ray 

Of  the  good  time  coming. 
Cannon-balls  may  aid  the  truth, 

But  thought 's  a  weapon  stronger ; 
We'll  win  our  battle  by  its  aid; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
The  pen  shall  supersede  the  sword, 
And  Right,  not  Might,  shall  be  the  lord 

In  the  good  time  coming. 
Worth,  not  Birth,  shall  rule  mankind. 

And  be  acknowledged  stronger; 
The  proper  impulse  has  been  given ; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
War  in  all  men's  eyes  shall  be 
A  monster  of  iniquity 

In  the  good  time  coming. 


THE   GOOD   TIME   COMING. 

Nations  shall  not  quarrel  then, 
To  prove  which  is  the  stronger  ; 

Nor  slaughter  men  for  glory's  sake  ;— 
Wait  a  little  longer. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
Hateful  rivalries  of  creed 
Shall  not  make  their  martyrs  bleed 

In  the  good  time  coming. 
Religion  shall  be  shorn  of  pride, 

And  flourish  all  the  stronger ; 
And  Charity  shall  trim  her  lamp ; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
And  a  poor  man's  family 
Shall  not  be  his  misery 

In  the  good  time  coming. 
Every  child  shall  be  a  help, 

To  make  his  right  arm  stronger ; 
The  happier  he  the  more  be  has ; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
Little  children  shall  not  toil, 
Under,  or  above  the  soil, 

In  the  good  time  coming ; 


VOICES   FROM   THE   CRO^T). 

But  shall  play  in  healthful  fields 

Till  limbs  and  mind  grow  stronger  ; 

And  every  one  shall  read  and  write  ; — 
Wait  a  little  lono-er. 


There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
The  people  shall  be  temperate, 
And  shall  love  instead  of  hate, 

In  the  good  time  coming. 
They  shall  use,  and  not  abuse. 

And  make  all  virtue  stronger. 
The  reformation  has  begun ; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 


There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
Let  us  aid  it  all  we  can. 
Every  woman,  every  man. 

The  good  time  coming. 
Smallest  helps,  if  rightly  given, 

Make  the  impulse  stronger ; 
'Twill  be  strong  enough  one  day ; — 

Wait  a  little  longer. 


o-^o 


THE  WANTS  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 
1846. 

What  do  we  want?     Our  daily  bread; 

Leave  to  earn  it  by  our  skill ; 
Leave  to  labour  freely  for  it, 

Leave  to  buy  it  where  we  will : 
For  'tis  hard  upon  the  many — 

Hard,  unpitied  by  the  few, 
To  starve  and  die  for  want  of  work, 

Or  live  half-starved  with  work  to  do. 

What  do  we  want  ?     Our  daily  bread ; 

Fair  reward  for  labour  done ; 
Daily  bread  for  wives  and  children ; 

All  our  wants  are  merged  in  one. 
When  the  fierce  fiend  Hunger  grips  us. 

Evil  fancies  clog  our  brains, 
Yengeance  settles  on  our  hearts, 

And  Frenzy  gallops  through  our  veins. 

What  do  we  want  ?     Our  daily  bread  ; 

Give  us  that ;  all  else  will  come — 
Self-respect  and  self-denial, 

And  the  happiness  of  home  ; 


10  VOICES   FROM   THE  CROWD. 

Kindly  feelings,  education, 

Liberty  for  act  and  thought ; 

And  surety  that,  whate'er  befall, 

Our  children  shall  be  fed  and  taught. 

"What  do  we  want  ?     Our  daily  bread ; 

Give  us  that  for  willing  toil : 
Make  us  sharers  in  the  plenty 

God  has  shower'd  upon  the  soil ; 
And  we'll  nurse  our  better  natures 

With  bold  hearts  and  judgment  strong, 
To  do  as  much  as  men  can  do 

To  keep  the  world  from  going  wrong. 

What  do  we  want  ?     Our  daily  bread, 

And  trade  untrammell'd  as  the  wind ; 
And  from  our  ranks  shall  spirits  start. 

To  aid  the  progress  of  mankind. 
Sages,  poets,  mechanicians. 

Mighty  thinkers,  shall  arise. 
To  take  their  share  of  loftier  work, 

And  teach,  exalt-,  and  civilize. 

What  do  we  want  I     Our  daily  bread  : — 

Grant  it : — make  our  efforts  free ; 
Let  us  work  and  let  us  prosper; 

You  shall  prosper  more  than  we ; 
And  the  humblest  homes  of  England 

Shall,  in  proper  time,  give  birth 
To  better  men  than  we  have  been. 

To  live  upon  a  better  earth. 


11 


THE  THEEE  PREACHERS. 

There  are  three  preachers,  ever  preaching, 

Fiird  with  eloquence  and  power  : — 
One  is  old,  with  locks  of  white, 
Skinny  as  an  anchorite  ; 

And  he  preaches  every  hour 
With  a  shrill  fanatic  voice, 

And  a  bigot's  fiery  scorn  : — 
"  Backward  !  ye  presumptuous  nations ; 

Man  to  misery  is  born  ! 
Born  to  drudge,  and  sweat,  and  sufier— 

Born  to  labour  and  to  pray ; 
Backward  !  ye  presumptuous  nations — 

Back  ! — be  humble  and  obey  !" 

The  second  is  a  milder  preacher ; 

Soft  he  talks  as  if  he  sung; 
Sleek  and  slothful  is  his  look. 
And  his  words,  as  from  a  book, 

Issue  glibly  from  his  tongue. 
With  an  air  of  self- content, 

High  he  lifts  his  fair  white  hands  : 
"  Stand  ye  still  !  ye  restless  nations ; 

And  be  happy,  all  ye  lands ! 
Fate  is  law,  and  law  is  perfect ; 

If  ye  meddle,  ye  will  mar ; 
Change  is  rash,  and  ever  was  so  : 

We  are  happy  as  we  are." 


12  VOICES   FROM  THE  CROAVD. 

Mightier  is  the  younger  preacher, 

Genius  flashes  from  his  eyes ; 
And  the  crowds  who  hear  his  voice, 
Give  him,  while  their  souls  rejoice, 

Throbbing  bosoms  for  replies. 
Awed  they  listen,  yet  elated. 

While  his  stirring  accents  fall : — 
"  Forward  !  ye  deluded  nations, 

Progress  is  the  rule  of  all : 
Man  was  made  for  healthful  effort ; 

Tyranny  has  crush'd  him  long ; 
He  shall  march  from  good  to  better. 

And  do  battle  with  the  wrong. 

"  Standing  still  is  childish  lolly, 

Going  backward  is  a  crime  : 
None  should  patiently  endure 
Any  ill  that  he  can  cure  ; 

Onward  !  keep  the  march  of  Time. 
Onward  !  while  a  wrong  remains 

To  be  conquer'd  by  the  right ; 
While  Oppression  lifts  a  finger 

To  affront  us  by  his  might ; 
While  an  error  clouds  the  reason 

Of  the  universal  heart, 
Or  a  slave  awaits  his  freedom. 

Action  is  the  wise  man's  part. 

"  Lo  !  the  world  is  rich  in  blessings : 
Earth  and  Ocean,  flame  and  wind, 
Have  unnumber'd  secrets  still. 
To  be  ransack'd  when  you  will. 
For  the  service  of  mankind; 


THE  THREE   PREACHERS.  13 

Science  is  a  child  as  yet, 

And  her  power  and  scope  shall  grow, 
And  her  triumphs  in  the  future 

Shall  diminish  toil  and  woe ; 
Shall  extend  the  bounds  of  pleasure 

With  an  ever-widening  ken. 
And  of  woods  and  wildernesses 

Make  the  homes  of  happy  men. 

"  Onward  ! — there  are  ills  to  conquer. 

Daily  wickedness  is  wrought. 
Tyranny  is  swoln  with  Pride, 
Bigotry  is  deified, 

Error  intertwined  with  Thought. 
Yice  and  Misery  ramp  and  crawl  ; — 

Koot  them  out,  their  day  has  pass'd ; 
Goodness  is  alone  immortal ; 

Evil  was  not  made  to  last  : 
Onward  !  and  all  Earth  shall  aid  us 

Ere  our  peaceful  flag  be  furl'd." — 
And  the  preaching  of  this  preacher 

Stirs  the  pulses  of  the  world. 


14  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


OLD  OPINIONS. 

Once  we  thouglit  that  Power  Eternal 

Had  decreed  the  woes  of  man  ; 
That  the  human  heart  was  wicked 

Since  its  pulses  first  began  ; 
That  the  earth  was  but  a  prison, 

Dark  and  joyless  at  the  best, 
And  that  men  were  born  for  evil. 

And  imbibed  it  from  the  breast ; 
That  'twas  vain  to  think  of  urging 

Any  earthly  progress  on. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 

Once  we  thought  all  human  sorrows 

Were  predestined  to  endure ; 
That,  as  man  had  never  made  thera, 

Men  were  impotent  to  cure  ; 
That  the  few  were  borne  superior, 

Though  the  many  might  rebel ; — 
Those  to  sit  at  Nature's  table. 

These  to  pick  the  crumbs  that  fell ; 
Those  to  live  upon  the  fatness. 

These  the  starvelings,  lank  and  wan. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 


OLD    OPINIONS,  15 

Once  we  thought  that  holy  Freedom 

Was  a  cursed  and  tainted  thing  ; 
Foe  of  Peace,  and  Law,  and  Virtue  ; 

Foe  of  Magistrate  and  King ; 
That  all  vile  degraded  passion 

Ever  follow'd  in  her  path  ; 
Lust  and  Plunder,  War  and  Kapine, 

Tears,  and  Anarchy,  and  Wrath  ; 
That  the  angel  was  a  cruel, 

Haughty,  blood-stain'd  Amazon. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  I 

Get  you  gone  1  get  you  gone  I 


Once  we  thought  it  right  to  foster 

Local  jealousies  and  pride  ; 
Kight  to  hate  another  nation 

Parted  from  us  by  a  tide  ; 
Kight  to  go  to  war  for  gloiy, 

Or  extension  of  domain  ; 
Kight,  through  fear  of  foreign  rivals, 

To  refuse  the  needful  grain  ; 
Kight  to  bar  it  out  till  Famine 

Drew  the  bolt  with  fingers  wan. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  1 


Once  we  thought  that  Education 
Was  a  luxury  for  the  few ; 

That  to  give  it  to  the  many 
Was  to  give  it  scope  undue : 


16  VOICES   FROM   THE  CROWD. 

That  'twas  foolish  to  imagine 

It  could  be  as  free  as  air, 
Common  as  the  glorious  sunshine 

To  the  child  of  want  and  care  : 
That  the  poor  man,  educated, 

Quarrell'd  with  his  toil  anon. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 

Old  opinions,  rags  and  tatters ; 

Ye  are  worn  ; — ah,  quite  threadbare  I 
We  must  cast  you  off  for  ever ; — 

We  are  wiser  than  we  were  : 
Never  fitting,  always  cramping. 

Letting  in  the  wind  and  sleet, 
Chilling  us  with  rheums  and  agues, 

Or  inflaming  us  with  heat. 
We  have  found  a  mental  raiment 

Purer,  whiter,  to  put  on. 
Old  opinions  !  rags  and  tatters  ! 

Get  you  gone  !  get  you  gone  ! 


9-''lS'^i^'^^f9£>^-'^ 


17 


DAILY  WORK, 

1846, 

Who  lags  for  dread  of  daily  work, 
And  his  appointed  task  would  shirk, 
Commits  a  folly  and  a  crime  ; 

A  soulless  slave — a  paltry  knave — 
A  clog  upon  the  wheels  of  Time. 
With  work  to  do,  and  store  of  health, 
The  man's  unworthy  to  be  free. 

Who  will  not  give,  that  he  may  live, 
His  daily  toil  for  daily  fee. 

No !     Let  us  work  !     We  only  ask 
Keward  proportioned  to  our  task  :-— 
We  have  no  quarrel  with  the  great ; 

No  feud  with  rank — with  mill  or  bank — - 
No  envy  of  a  lord's  estate. 
If  we  can  earn  sufficient  store 
To  satisfy  our  daily  need ; 

And  can  retain,  for  age  and  pain, 
A  fraction,  we  are  rich  indeed. 

No  dread  of  toil  have  we  or  ours ; 

We  know  our  worth,  and  weigh  our  powers  j 

The  more  we  work  the  more  we  win  : 
Success  to  Trade  !     Success  to  Spade  ! 

And  to  the  corn  that 's  coming  in  I 


18  VOICES   FROM  THE   CROWD. 

And  joy  to  him,  who  o'er  his  task 
E-emembers  toil  is  Nature's  plan  ; 

Who,  working,  thinks — and  never  sinks 
His  independence  as  a  man. 

Who  only  asks  for  humblest  wealth, 
Enough  for  competence  and  health  ; 
And  leisure,  when  his  work  is  done, 

To  read  his  book  by  chimney-nook, 
Or  stroll  at  setting  of  the  sun  : 
Who  toils,  as  every  man  should  toil, 
For  fair  reward,  erect  and  free. 

These  are  the  men — the  best  of  men — 
These  are  the  men  we  mean  to  be  ! 


G^s3^M^^^  ■ 


19 


AN  EMIGRANT'S  BLESSING. 

Farewell,  England  !  blessings  on  thee, 

Stern  and  niggard  as  thou  art ; 
Harshly,  Mother,  thou  hast  used  me. 
And  my  bread  thou  hast  refused  me  j 

But  'tis  agony  to  part. 
'Twill  pass  over ;  for  I  would  not 

Bear  again  what  I  could  tell — 
Half  the  ills  that  I  have  suffer'd — 

Though  I  loved  thee  twice  as  well. 
So — my  blessings  on  thee,  England, 

And  a  long  and  last  farewell ! 

Other  regions  will  provide  me 

Independence  for  my  age, 
Recompense  for  hard  exertion — 
For  my  children,  the  reversion 

Of  a  goodly  heritage. 
England — this  thou  couldst  not  give  me  ; 

England,  pamperer  of  squires, 
Landlord-ridden,  pride-encumber  d, 

Quencher  of  the  poor  man's  fires  ; — 
But,  farewell !     My  blessing  on  thee ; 

Thou  art  country  of  my  sires. 

Though  I  love,  I'm  glad  to  fly  thee  ; 

Who  would  live  in  hopeless  toil, 
Evil-steep'd  and  ill-exampled, 
Press'd  and  jostled,  crush'd  and  trampled, 

Interloper  on  the  soil — 
c  2 


20  VOICES   FROM  THE   CROWD. 

If  tliere  were  one  other  country 
Where  an  honest  man  might  go, 

Winning  corn-fields  from  the  forest — 
All  his  own,  too — blow  by  blow  1 

Farewell,  England — I  regret  thee, 
But  my  tears  refuse  to  flow. 

Haply  o'er  the  Southern  ocean 

I  shall  do  my  part,  to  rear 
A  new  nation,  Saxon-blooded, 
Which,  with  plenty  crown'd  and  studded, 

To  its  happy  children  dear, 
Shall  eclipse  thy  fame,  O  England ; 

Taught  and  warn'd  alike  by  thee  ; — 
Mightier  with  unshackled  commerce, 

Mightier  in  her  men  more  free, 
Mightier  in  her  virgin  vigour. 

And  her  just  equality. 

But  farewell.     My  blessing  on  thee  1 

Never,  till  my  latest  day. 
Shall  my  memory  cease  to  ponder 
On  thy  fate,  where'er  I  wander; — 

Never  shall  I  cease  to  pray 
That  the  many  may  be  happy; 

That  the  few  their  pride  may  quell ; 
That  thou  mayst  in  peaceful  progress 

All  thy  misery  dispel ; — 
Queen  of  nations  :  once  their  model — 

God  be  with  thee  !     Fare-thee-well  1 


21 


RAILWAYS. 

"No  poetry  in  Kail  ways!"  foolisli  thought 
Of  a  dull  brain,  to  no  fine  music  wrought. 
By  mammon  dazzled,  though  the  people  prize 
The  gold  alone,  yet  shall  not  we  despise 
The  triumphs  of  our  time,  or  fail  to  see 
Of  pregnant  mind  the  fruitful  progeny 
Ushering  the  daylight  of  the  world's  new  morn. 
Look  up,  ye  doubters,  be  no  more  forlorn  ! — 
Smooth  your  rough  brows,  ye  little  wise  :  rejoice, 
Ye  who  despond  :  and  with  exulting  voice 
Salute,  ye  earnest  spirits  of  our  time. 
The  young  Improvement  ripening  to  her  prime, 
Who,  in  the  fulness  of  her  genial  youth. 
Prepares  the  way  for  Liberty  and  Truth, 
And  breaks  the  barriers  that,  since  earth  began. 
Have  made  mankind  the  enemy  of  man. 

Lay  down  your  rails,  ye  nations,  near  and  far — 
Yoke  your  full  trains  to  Steam's  triumphal  car; 
Link  town  to  town;  unite  in  iron  bands 
The  long-estranged  and  oft-embattled  lands. 
Peace,  mild-eyed  seraph — Knowledge,  light  divine, 
Shall  send  their  messengers  by  every  line. 
Men,  joind  in  amity,  shall  wonder  long 
That  Hate  had  power  to  lead  their  fathers  wrong; 
Or  that  false  Glory  lured  their  hearts  astray, 
A:ud  made  it  virtuous  and  sublime  to  slay. 


22  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Blessings  on  science !     When  the  earth  seem'd  old, 
When  Faith  grew  doting,  and  the  Reason  cold, 
'Twas  she  discover'd  that  the  world  was  young, 
And  taught  a  language  to  its  lisping  tongue: 
'Twas  she  disclosed  a  future  to  its  view, 
And  made  old  knowledge  pale  before  the  new. 

Blessings  on  Science!     In  her  dawning  hour 
Faith  knit  her  brow,  alarm'd  for  ancient  power; 
Then  looked  again  upon  her  face  sincere, 
Held  out  her  hand,  and  hail'd  her — Sister  dear; 
And  Reason,  free  as  eagle  on  the  wind, 
Swoop'd  o*er  the  fallow  meadows  of  the  mind. 
And,  clear  of  vision,  saw  what  seed  would  grow 
On  the  hill-slopes,  or  in  the  vales  below; 
What  in  the  sunny  South,  or  nipping  Nord, 
And  from  her  talons  dropp'd  it  as  she  soar'd. 

Blessings  on  Science,  and  her  handmaid  Steam* 
They  make  Utopia  only  half  a  dream; 
And  show  the  fervent,  of  capacious  souls, 
Who  watch  the  ball  of  Progress  as  it  rolls,. 
That  all  as  yet  completed,  or  begun. 
Is  but  the  dawning  that  precedes  the  suil 


23 


THE  FERMENTATION. 

Lonely  sitting,  deeply  musing, 

On  a  still  and  starry  night, 
Full  of  fancies,  when  my  glances 
Turn'd  upon  those  far  romances 

Scatter'd  o'er  the  Infinite; 
On  a  sudden,  broke  upon  me 

Murmurs,  rumours,  quick  and  loud, 
And,  half-waking,  I  discover'd 

An  innumerable  crowd. 


'Mid  the  uproar  of  their  voices 

Scarcely  could  I  hear  a  word ; 
There  was  rushing,  there  was  crushing, 
And  a  sound  like  music  gushing. 

And  a  roar  like  forests  stirr'd 
By  a  fierce  wind  passing  o'er  them: — 

And  a  voice  came  now  and  then, 
Louder  than  them  all,  exclaiming, 

"Give  us  Justice!  we  are  men!" 


And  the  longer  that  I  listen'd, 

More  distinctly  could  I  hear, 

'Mid  the  poising  of  the  voicing. 

Sounds  of  sorrow  and  rejoicing, 

Utterance  of  Hope  and  Fear; 


24  yOICES   FROM   THE   CKOWB. 

And  a  clash  of  disputation, 

And  of  words  at  random  cast — 

Truths  and  Errors  intermingling, 
Of  the  present  and  the  past. 


Some  where  shouting  that  Oppression 

Held  their  consciences  in  thrall; 
Some  were  crying,  "Men  are  dying, 
Hunger-smit,  and  none  supplying 

Bread,  the  birthright  of  us  all." 
Some  exclaim'd  that  Wealth  was  haughty^ 

Harsh,  and  callous  to  the  poor; — 
Others  cried,  the  poor  were  vicious. 

Idle,  thankless,  insecure. 

Some,  with  voice  of  indignation. 

Told  the  story  of  their  wrongs^ 
Full  of  dolour — life-controller — 
That  for  difference  of  colour 

They  were  sold  like  cattle-throngs. 
Others,  pallid,  weak,  and  shivering, 

Said  that  laws  were  surely  bad. 
When  the  willing  hand  was  idle, 

And  the  cheeks  of  Toil  were  sad. 


*'Give  us  freedom  for  the  conscience  i" 
"Equal  rights!"— "Unfetter'd  MindT 

"  Education ! " — "  Compensation  1 " 

"Justice  for  a  mighty  nation!" 

" Progress  1" — "Peace  with  all  mankind  1'* 


THE   FERMENTATION.  25 

"Let  US  labour!" — "Give  us  churches  1" 
"Give  us  Corn  where'er  it  growl" 

These,  and  other  cries,  around  me 
Surged  incessant,  loud  or  low. 


Old  opinions  jarr'd  with  new  ones ; 

New  ones  jostled  with  the  old; 
In  such  Babel,  few  were  able 
To  distinguish  truth  from  fable. 

In  the  tale  their  neighbours  told. 
But  one  voice  above  all  others 

Sounded  like  the  voice  of  ten, 
Clear,  sonorous^  and  persuasive  : — 

"Give  us  Justice!  we  are  men!" 


And  I  said,  "Oh  Sovereign  Eeason, 

Sire  of  Peace  and  Liberty! 
Aid  for  ever  their  endeavour: — 
Boldly  let  them  still  assever 

All  the  rights  they  claim  in  thee. 
Aid  the  mighty  Fermentation 

Till  it  purifies  at  last, 
And  the  Future  of  the  people 

Is  made  brighter  than  the  Past." 


56  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


THE  POOE  MAN'S  SUNDAY  WALK. 

The  morning  of  our  rest  has  come, 

The  sun  is  shining  clear; 
I  see  it  on  the  steeple-top; 

Put  on  your  shawl,  my  dear, 
And  let  us  leave  the  smoky  town. 

The  dense  and  stagnant  lane. 
And  take  our  children  by  the  hand 

To  see  the  fields  again. 
I've  pined  for  air  the  live-long  week; 

For  the  smell  of  new-mown  hay ; 
For  a  pleasant,  quiet,  country  walk. 

On  a  sunny  Sabbath-day. 

Our  parish  church  is  cold  and  damp; 

I  need  the  air  and  sun; 
We'll  sit  together  on  the  grass. 

And  see  the  children  run. 
We'll  watch  them  gathering  buttercups. 

Or  cowslips  in  the  dell. 
Or  listen  to  the  cheerful  sounds 

Of  the  far-off  village  bell; 
And  thank  our  God  with  grateful  hearts, 

Though  in  the  fields  we  pray; 
And  bless  the  healthful  breeze  of  heaven, 

On  a  sunny  Sabbath-day. 


THE   POOR   man's   SUNDAY   WALK.  27 

rm  weary  of  tlie  stifling  room 

Where  all  the  week  we're  pent, — 
Of  the  alley  fill'd  with  wretched  life, 

And  odours  pestilent ; 
And  long  once  more  to  see  the  fields, 

And  the  grazing  sheep  and  beeves; 
To  hear  the  lark  amid  the  clouds, 

And  the  wind  among  the  leaves; 
And  all  the  sounds  that  glad  the  air 

On  green  hills  far  away — 
The  sounds  that  breathe  of  Peace  and  Love, 

On  a  sunny  Sabbath-day. 


For  somehow,  though  they  call  it  wrong, 

In  church  I  cannot  kneel 
With  half  the  natural  thankfulness 

And  piety  I  feel, 
When  out,  on  such  a  day  as  this, 

I  lie  upon  the  sod, 
And  think  that  every  leaf  and  flower 

Is  grateful  to  its  God  : 
That  I,  who  feel  the  blessing  more, 

Should  thank  Him  more  than  they 
That  I  can  elevate  my  soul 

On  a  sunny  Sabbath-day. 


Put  on  your  shawl,  and  let  us  go;- 
For  one  day  let  us  think 

Of  something  else  than  daily  care^ 
Of  toil^  and  meat,  and  drink : 


28  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

For  one  day  let  the  children  sport 

And  feel  their  limbs  their  own; 
For  one  day  let  us  quite  forget 

The  grief  that  we  have  known  : — 
Let  us  forget  that  we  are  poor; 

And,  basking  in  the  ray, 
Thank  God  that  we  can  still  enjoy 

A  sunny  Sabbath-day. 


29 


A  WELCOME  TO  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 
March,  1848. 

"We  do  not  cheer  thee,  faithless  king, 

Nor  shout  before  thee  now ; 
We  have  no  reverence  for  a  thing 

So  false  of  heart  as  thou : 
We  form  no  crowds  to  welcome  thee. 

And  yet  we  cannot  hate — 
Though  parricide  of  liberty — 

An  old  man  desolate. 

When,  in  such  sudden  dark  eclipse, 

We  see  thine  overthrow; 
The  hisses  die  upon  our  lips, 

We  turn  and  let  thee  go. 
Poor,  weak,  denuded  royalty, 

So  abject,  so  forlorn, 
The  greatness  of  thy  misery 

Shall  shield  thee  from  our  scorn. 

We  saw  thee  yesterday  elate 

In  majesty  and  pride, 
Thy  flowing  wealth,  thy  gorgeous  state, 

Thy  power  half  deified. 
Based  on  the  faults  of  humankind 

We  saw  thy  meshes  lurk. 
And  constant  Fortune's  favouring  wind 

Still  waft  thee  tools  to  work. 


30  VOICES   FKOM  THE   CEOWD. 

We  saw  thee  building,  building  up 

Thy  pomps  before  our  eyes, 
And  ever  in  thy  flowing  cup 

The  sparkling  bubbles  rise  ; — 
Alliance,  worship,  all  were  thine, 

And,  spectacle  unmeet, 
Ev'n  genius,  drunk  with  bribery's  wine, 

Lay  grovelling  at  thy  feet. 

When  earnest  men  afl&rm'd  the  right. 

And  ask'd  the  judging  Heaven, 
If  ever,  since  the  birth  of  light, 

Had  fraud  and  falsehood  thriven, 
Our  fingers  pointed  with  mistrust 

To  thee  as  our  reply — 
A  living  mockery  of  the  just, 

That  gave  their  truth  the  lie. 

All  this  thou  wert  but  yestermorn — 
Thy  fall  is  freedom's  birth; 

To-day  thou  art  a  mark  for  scorn, 
A  vagrant  on  the  earth. 

A  truth  pervading  all  the  lands 
Inspired  the  people's  heart, 

It  throbb'd — it  beat— it  nerved  their  hands- 
It  made  thee  what  thou  art. 

Lo,  like  a  coward,  self-accused, 

We  saw  thee  skulk  and  fly. 
And  hug  a  life  that  none  refused, 

For  want  of  strength  to  die. 


A   WELCOME   TO   LOUIS   PHILIPPE.  31 

To  'scape  th'  imaginary  chase 

That  made  thy  soul  afraid, 
We  saw  thy  shifts,  thy  shaven  face, 

Thy  piteous  masquerade. 

We  blush'd,  we  groan  d,  to  see  thee  seek 

Mean  safety  in  disguise. 
And,  like  a  knavish  bankrupt,  sneak 

From  sight  of  honest  eyes. 
Forlorn  old  man  !  our  hate  expires 

At  spectacle  like  this ; — 
Our  pity  kindles  all  its  fires — 

We  have  not  heart  to  hiss. 

Live  on — thou  hast  not  lived  in  vain ! 

A  mighty  truth  uprears 
Its  radiant  forehead  o'er  thy  reign. 

And  lights  the  coming  years  : 
Though  specious  Tyranny  be  strong 

Humanity  is  true. 
And  Empire  based  upon  a  wrong 

Is  rotten  through  and  through. 

Though  falsehoods  into  system  wrought, 
Condensed  into  a  plan. 

May  stand  awhile,  their  power  is  nought- 
There  is  a  God  in  man. 

His  revolutions  speak  in  ours. 
And  make  His  justice  plain — 

Old  man  forlorn,  live  out  thine  hours. 
Thou  hast  not  lived  in  vain. 


32  VOICES   PROM   THE  CKOWD. 


THE  DKEAM  OF  THE  REVELLEIl. 

Around  the  board  the  guests  were  met,  the  lights 

above  them  beaming, 
And  in  their  cups,  replenish'd  oft,  the  ruddy  wine 

was  streaming ; 
Their  cheeks  were   flush'd,   their   eyes  were   bright, 

their  hearts  with  pleasure  bounded, 
The  song  was  sung,  the  toast  was  given,  and  loud 

the  revel  sounded. 
I  drain'd  a  goblet  with  the  rest,  ^nd  cried,  "Away 

with  sorrow  1 
Let  us  be  happy  for  to-day;  what  care  we  for  to- 
morrow?" 
But   as  I  spoke,    my  sight  grew  dim,    and    slumber 

deep  came  o'er  me, 
And,  'mid  the  whirl  of  mingling  tongues,  this  vision 

pass'd  before  me. 

Methought  I  saw  a  demon  rise  :  he  held  a  mighty 

bicker. 
Whose  burnish'd  sides  ran  brimming  o'er  with  floods 

of  burning  liquor. 
Around  him  press'd  a  clamorous  crowd,  to  taste  this 

liquour,  greedy, 
But  chiefly  came  the  poor  and  sad,  the  suflering  and 

the  needy; 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  REVELLER.         33 

All  those  oppress'd  by  grief  or  debt,  tlie  dissolute, 
the  lazy, 

Blear-eyed  old  men  and  reckless  youths,  and  palsied 
women  crazy ; 

"Give,  give!"  tbey  cried,  "Give,  give  us  drink,  to 
drown  all  thought  of  sorrow  ; 

If  we  are  happy  for  to-day,  what  care  we  for  to- 
morrow 1 " 


The  Jirst   drop   warm'd   their   shivering    skins,    and 

drove  away  their  sadness ; 
The   second  lit   their   sunken   eyes,    and   fill'd  their 

souls  with  gladness ; 
The  third  drop  made  theoi  shout  and  roar,  and  play 

each  furious  antic ; 
The  fourth   drop   boil'd    their  very  blood ;    and   the 

Jlfth  drop  drove  them  frantic. — 
"Drink!"  said  the  Demon,  "Drink  your  fill!  drink 

of  these  waters  mellow ; — 
They'll  make  your  eye-balls  sear  and  dull,  and  turn 

your  white  skins  yellow ; 
They'll   fill   your   homes  with    care    and    grief,    and 

clothe  your  backs  with  tatters ; 
They'll  fill  your  hearts  with  evil  thoughts ;  but  never 

mind  ! — what  matters  1 


"  Though  virtue  sink,  and  reason  fail,  and  social  ties 

dissever, 
I'll  be   your  friend  in  hour   of  need,    and   find   you 

homes  for  ever ; 

D 


34  VOICES    FROM   THE   CROWD. 

For  I  have  built  three  mansions  high,  three  strong 
and  goodly  houses, 

To  lodge  at  last  each  jolly  soul  who  all  his  life 
carouses. — 

Tlie  first,  it  is  a  spacious  house,  to  all  but  sots 
appalling. 

Where,  by  the  parish  bounty  fed,  vile,  in  the  sun- 
shine crawling. 

The  worn-out  drunkard  ends  his  days,  and  eats  the 
dole  of  others, 

A  plague  and  burthen  to  himself,  an  eyesore  to  his 
brothers. 

'•'The  second  is  a  lazarhouse,  rank,  fetid,  and  unholy; 
Where,  smitten  by  diseases  foul  and  hopeless  melan- 
choly. 
The  victims  of  potations  deep  pine  on  the  couch  of 

sadness, 
Some    calling    Death    to   end   their   pain,    and  some 

imploring  Madness. 
The  third   and  last  is  black  and  high,  the  abode  of 

guilt  and  anguish, 
And  full    of  dungeons  deep  and    fast,  where  death- 

doom'd  felons  languish  j 
So    drain    the    cup,    and    drain    again !    One   of  my 

goodly  houses 
Shall  lodge  at  last  each  jolly  soul  who  to  the  dregs 

carouses !" 

But  well  he  knew — that  Demon  old — how  vain  was 
all  his  preaching, 

The  ragged  crew  that  round  him  flock'd  were  heed- 
less of  his  teaching ; 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  REVELLER.         35 

Even   as   they  heard   his    fearful  words,    they  cried, 

with  shouts  of  laughter, — 
*'  Out  on  the  fool  who  mars  to-day  with  thoughts  ot 

an  hereafter ! 
We  care  not  for  thy  houses  three ;  we  live  but  for 

the  present ; 
And    merry  will   we    make   it    yet,    and    quaff  our 

bumpers  pleasant." 
Loud  laugh'd   the   fiend   to   hear   them   speak,  and, 

lifting  high  his  bicker, 
"Body  and  soul  are  mine!"  said  he  ;  ''I'll  have  them 

both  for  liquor." 


-^g^il 


D   "ll 


36  VOICES   FROM   THE   CFvOWD. 


THE  POET  AND  THE  POLITICAL  ECONOMIST. 

THE  POLITICAL  ECONOMIST. 

Prithee,  Poet,  why  this  spinning, 
Spinning  verses  all  the  day  ? 

Vain  and  idle  thy  vocation, — 

Thy  art  useless  to  the  nation, 
In  thy  labour  and  thy  play. 

Little  doth  the  world  esteem  thee, 

And  it  takes  thee  at  thy  worth ; 
Loftiest  rhyme  that  e'er  was  fashion'd, 
Sounding,  gorgeous,  or  impassion'd. 
Is  a  drug  upon  the  earth. 

Go — and  be  a  cotton-spinner; 

Put  thy  hand  upon  the  spade  ; 
"Weave  a  basket  out  of  willow; 
Dig  the  mine,  or  sail  the  billow — 

Anything  but  such  a  trade. 

THE  POET. 

"Why  thy  scorn,  O  man  of  logic  ? 

Speak  of  that  within  thy  ken  : 
I  despise  thee  not ; — thy  labours, 
If  they  make  us  better  neighbours, 

Are  not  valueless  to  men. 


THE   POET   AND   THE   POLITICAL   ECONOMIST.  37 

Highly  all  the  world  esteems  thee, 

And  a  poet  may  declare, 
That  the  wise  should  place  reliance 
On  the  efforts  of  thy  science 

To  diminish  human  care. 


Bring  thy  hidden  truths  to  daylight, 
And  I'll  ne'er  complain  of  thee. 

Dull  thou'rt  call'd — and  dulness  cumbers  ; 

Yet  there's  wisdom  in  thy  numbers; 
Leave  my  numbers  unto  me. 


Each  of  us  fulfils  a  duty. 

And,  though  scorn'd,  I'll  cling  to  mine, 
With  a  passion  ever  growing. 
In  my  heart,  to  overflowing  ; — 

Clincf  thou  with  as  much  to  thine. 


ThouWt  a  preacher ;  Fm  a  prophet. 

Thou  discoursest  to  thy  time  ; 
/  discourse  to  generations. 
And  the  thoughts  of  unborn  nations 

Shall  be  fashion'd  by  my  rhyme. 


Thou,  to  dubious  politicians. 

Staid  and  passionless  and  slow, 
Givest  ^;ros  and  cons  with  candour, 
Bland  and  patient,  ever  blander 
As  thy  trim  deductions  flow. 


38  VOICES   FROM    THE   CROWD. 

/  send  forth  electric  flashes 

To  the  bosom  of  the  crowd  ; 
Rule  its  pulses,  cheer  its  sadness, 
Make  it  throb  and  pant  with  gladness, 
Till  it  answers  me  aloud. 


Not  for  me  to  linger  idly, 

Gathering  garlands  by  the  way; 
Singing  but  of  flowers  and  sunsets, 
Lovers'  vows,  or  nightly  onsets, 
Or  of  ladies  fair  as  May. 

No ;  the  poet  loves  his  calling ; 

Nature's  lyre  is  all  his  own  ; 
He  can  sweep  its  strings  prophetic, 
Till  the  nations,  sympathetic. 

Gather  breathless  to  its  tone. 


For  he  knows  the  People  listen 
When  a  mighty  spirit  speaks, 
And  that  none  can  stir  them  duly 
But  the  man  who  loves  them  truly, 
And  from  them  his  impulse  seeks. 


What  they  feel,  but  cannot  utter  ; 

What  they  hope  for,  day  and  night ; — 
These  the  words  by  which  he  fires  them, 
Prompts  them,  leads  them,  and  inspires  them 

To  do  battle  for  the  right. 


THE   POET   AND   THE   POLITICAL   ECONOillST.  3P 

These  the  words  by  which  the  many 

Cope  for  j  ustice  with  the  few  ; — 
TJiese  their  watchwords,  when  Oppression, 
Would  resist  the  small  concession, 
But  a  fraction  of  their  due. 


These  the  poet,  music-hearted, 

Blazons  to  the  listening  land, 
And  for  these  all  lands  shall  prize  him, 
Though  the  foolish  may  despise  him. 
Or  the  wise  misunderstand. 


Go  thy  way,  then,  man  of  logic. 

In  thy  fashion,  speak  thy  truth  ; — 
Thou  hast  fix'd,  and  I  have  chosen  ; — 
Thou  shalt  speak  to  blood  that 's  frozen, 
I  to  vigour  and  to  youth. 


Haply  we  shall  both  be  useful, 

And,  perchance,  more  useful  thou. 
If  their  full  degree  of  merit 
To  all  other  moods  of  spirit 
Thou  wilt  cheerfully  allow. 


As  for  me,  I  fear  no  scorning, 

And  shall  speak  with  earnest  mind 
What  is  in  me  ; — self  rewarded 
If  I  aid,  though  unregarded, 
The  advancement  of  my  kind. 


40  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


TO  A  FRIEND  AFRAID  OF  CRITICS. 

Afraid  of  critics  !  an  unworthy  fear  ; 

Great  minds  must  learn  their  greatness  and  be  bold. 

Walk   on   thy    way  ;    bring   forth    thine    own    true 

thought ; 
Love  thy  high  calling  only  for  itself, 
And  find  in  working  recompense  for  work, 
And   Envy's  shaft  shall  whizz  at  thee  in  vain. 
Despise  not  censure; — weigh  if  it  be  just; 
And  if  it  be — amend,   whate'er  the  thought 
Of  him  who  cast  it.     Take  the  wise  man's  praise, 
And  love  thyself  the  more  that  thou  couldst  earn 
Meed  so  exalted  ;  but  the  blame  of  fools, 
Let  it  blow  over  like  an  idle  whiff 
Of  poisonous  tobacco  in  the  streets, 
Invasive  of  thy  unoffending  nose  : — 
Their  praise  no  better,  only  more  perfumed. 

The  Critics — let  me  paint  them  as  they  are. 
Some  few  I  know,  and  love  them  from  my  soul ; 
Polish'd,  acute,  deep  read  ;  of  inborn  taste 
Cultured  into  a  virtue  ;  full  of  pith 
And  kindly  vigour,  having  won  their  spurs 
In  the  great  rivalry  of  friendly  mind. 
And  generous  to  others,  though  unknown, 
Who  would,  having  a  thought,  let  all  men  know 
The  new  discovery.     But  these  are  rare  ; 


TO   A    FRIEND   AFRAID    OF   CRITICS.  41 

And  if  thou  find  one,  take  him  to  thy  heart, 
And  think  his  unbought  praise  both  palm  and  crown, 
A  thing  worth  living  for,  were  nought  beside. 
Fear  thou  no  critic,  if  thou'rt  true  thyself; — 
And  look  for  fame  now  if  the  wise  approve, 
Or  from  a  wiser  jury  yet  unborn. 
The  Poetaster  may  be  harm'd  enough. 
Bat  Criticasters  cannot  crush  a  Bard. 

If  to  be  famous  be  thy  sole  intent, 
And  greatness  be  a  mark  beyond  thy  reach, 
IManage  the  critics,  and  thou 'It  win  the  game; 
Invite  them  to  thy  board,  and  give  them  feasts, 
And  foster  them  with  unrelaxing  care  ; 
And  they  will  praise  thee  in  their  partial  sheets, 
And  quite  ignore  the  worth  of  better  men. 
But  if  thou  wilt  not  court  them,  let  them  go, 
And  scorn  the  praise  that  sells  itself  for  wine. 
Or  tacks  itself  upon  success  alone, 
Hanging  like  spittle  on  a  rich  man's  beard. 

One,  if  thou  'rt  great,  will  cite  from  thy  new  book 
The  tamest  passage, — something  that  thy  soul 
Revolts  at,  now  the  inspiration 's  o'er. 
And  would  give  all  thou  hast  to  blot  from  print 
And  sink  into  oblivion ; — and  will  vaunt 
The  thing  as  beautiful,  transcendent,  rare — 
The  best  thing  thou  hast  done  !     Another  friend, 
With  finer  sense,  will  praise  thy  greatest  thought, 
Yet  cavil  at  it ;  putting  in  his  "  huts  " 
And  "  yets,^'  and  little  obvious  hints. 
That  though  'tis  good,  the  critic  could  have  made 


42  VOICES   FROM    THE   CROWD. 

A  work  superior  in  its  every  part. 

Another,  in  a  pert  and  savage  mood, 

Without  a  reason,  w^ill  condemn  thee  quite, 

And  strive  to  quench  thee  in  a  paragraph. 

Another,  with  dishonest  waggery. 

Will  twist,  misquote,  and  utterly  pervert 

Thy  thoughts  and  words ;  and  hug  himself  meanwliile 

In  the  delusion,  pleasant  to  his  soul. 

That  thou  art  crush' d,  and  he  a  gentleman. 

Another,  with  a  specious  fair  pretence. 
Immaculately  wise,  will  skim  thy  book, 
And  self-sufficient,  from  his  desk  look  down 
With  undisguised  contempt  on  thee  and  thine ; 
And  sneer  and  snarl  thee,  from  his  weekly  court, 
From  an  idea,  spawn  of  his  conceit. 
That  the  best  means  to  gain  a  great  renown 
For  wisdom  is  to  sneer  at  all  the  w^orld, 
With  strong  denial  that  a  good  exists  j — 
That  all  is  bad,  imperfect,  feeble,  stale, 
IGxcept  this  critic,  who  outshines  mankind. 

Another,  with  a  foolish  zeal,  will  prate 
Of  thy  great  excellence,  and  on  thy  head 
Heap  epithet  on  epithet  of  praise 
In  terms  preposterous,  that  thou  wilt  blush 
To  be  so  smother  d  with  such  fulsome  lies. 
Another,  calmer,  with  laudations  thin, 
Unsavoury  and  weak,  will  make  it  seem 
That  his  good-nature,  not  thy  merit,  prompts 
The  baseless  adulation  of  his  pen. 
Another,  with  a  bull-dog's  bark,  will  bay 


TO   A    FRIEND   AFRAID   OF   CRITICS.  43 

Foul  names  against  thee  for  some  fancied  slight 
Which  thou  ne'er  dream'dst    of,  and  will  damn  thy 

work 
For  spite  against  the  worker ;  while  the  next, 
Who  thinks  thy  faith  or  politics  a  crime. 
Will  bray  displeasure  from  his  monthly  stall, 
And  prove  thee  dunce,  that  disagreest  with  him. 

And,  last  of  all,  some  solemn  sage,  whose  nod 
Trimestrial  awes  a  world  of  little  wits, 
Will  carefully  avoid  to  name  thy  name. 
Although  thy  words  are  in  the  mouths  of  men, 
And  thy  ideas  in  their  inmost  hearts, 
Moulding  events,  and  fashioning  thy  time 
To  nobler  efforts. — Little  matters  it  ! 
Whate'er  thou  art,  thy  value  will  appear. 
If  thou  art  bad,  no  praise  will  buoy  thee  up  ; 
If  thou  art  good,  no  censure  weigh  thee  down, 
Nor  silence  nor  neglect  prevent  thy  fame. 
So  fear  not  thou  the  critics  !     Speak  thy  thought ; 
And,  if  thou  'rt  worthy,  in  the  people's  love 
Thy  name  shall  live,  while  lasts  thy  mother  tongue! 


4i  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


BRITISH  FREEDOM. 


We  want  no  flag,  no  flaunting  rag, 

For  Liberty  to  fight ; 
We  want  no  blaze  of  murderous  guns, 

To  struggle  for  the  right. 
Our  spears  and  swords  are  printed  words, 

The  mind  our  battle-plain ; 
We've  won  such  victories  before, 

And  so  we  shall  again. 

IT. 

We  love  no  triumphs  sprung  of  force  — 

They  stain  her  brightest  cause  : 
'Tis  not  in  blood  that  Liberty 

Inscribes  her  civil  laws. 
She  writes  them  on  the  people's  heart 

In  language  clear  and  plain; 
True  thoughts  have  moved  the  world  before, 

And  so  they  shall  again, 

III. 

We  yield  to  none  in  earnest  love 

Of  Freedom's  cause  sublime; 
We  join  the  cry,  "Fraternity!" 

We  keeo  the  march  of  Time. 


BRITISH    FREEDOM.  45 

And  yet  we  grasp  nor  pike  nor  spear, 

Our  victories  to  obtain ; 
We've  won  without  their  aid  before, 

And  so  we  shall  again, 

IV. 

We  want  no  aid  of  barricade 

To  show  a  front  to  wrong; 
We  have  a  citadel  in  truth. 

More  durable  and  strong. 
Calm  words,  great  thoughts,  unflinching  faith, 

Have  never  striv'n  in  vain ; 
They've  won  our  battles  many  a  time, 

And  so  they  shall  again. 


Peace,  Progress,  Knowledge,  Brotherhood — 

The  ignorant  may  sneer. 
The  bad  deny ;  but  we  rely 

To  see  their  triumph  near. 
No  widows'  groans  shall  load  our  cause, 

Nor  blood  of  brethren  stain; 
We've  won  without  such  aid  before, 

And  so  we  shall  again. 


46  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


THE  DYING  MOTHER. 

The  angels  call  me — lo,  I  come  ! 
Children,  I  die  !  I'm  going  home  ! 
All  pangs,  save  one,  have  pass'd  away, 
All  griefs  and  sufferings  of  clay, 
Except  this  lingering  fond  distress. 
That  yields  not  to  forgetfulness — 
The  last  affection  of  my  heart, 
The  pain,  the  grief,  that  we  must  part. 

No  more  !  a  hope  to  sorrow  given 
Says  earthly  love  may  bloom  in  heaven, 
May  soar,  if  pure,  to  God's  right  hand  : 
I  go,  I  seek  the  happy  land. 
Ah  !  no,  not  yet ;  the  sunshine  fair 
Revives  me  for  a  while  :  the  air 
Blows  calm  and  cool.     Oh,  living  breath  ! 
It  gives  me  strength  to  look  on  death. 

It  gives  me  courage  to  implore. 
By  all  the  love  you  ever  bore, — 
A  foolish,  fond,  but  last  request, — 
That  you  will  choose  my  place  of  r^st. 
In  the  green  fields,  beneath  a  tree, 
Where  west  winds  linger  lovingly. 


THE   DYING   MOTHER.  47 

Where  dews  may  drop  and  buds  may  bloom, 
And  moonlight  sleep  upon  my  tomb. 

I  would  not  that  my  bones  should  lie 
(Forgive  the  earthly  vanity) 
In  rotting  churchyards  of  the  town, 
Dishonour'd,  public,  trodden  down, 
To  be  disturb'd,  untomb'd,  exposed. 
The  secrets  of  my  grave  disclosed. 
Ere  kind  decay  had  blurr'd  the  line 
Of  form  and  feature  that  were  mine. 

Although  no  pangs  can  touch  our  dust, 
And  death  is  stingless  on  the  just, 
Yet  grant  my  prayer,  and  lay  my  clod 
Far  from  the  town,  beneath  the  sod. 
Who  strews  a  flower,  or  drops  a  tear. 
Or  sighs  when  passing  crowds  may  hear — 
Or  watches  fondly  over  graves 
Where  busy  Traffic  works  her  slaves? 

Husband,  I  die — my  peace  is  won  ; 

I  linger,  but  my  race  is  run. 

Oh  !  choose  a  grave  where  I  may  sleep. 

Untroubled,  in  a  silence  deep; 

Where  thou,  perchance,  at  evening's  hour, 

Mayst  o'er  my  headstone  drop  a  flower ; 

And  where,  each  sunny  Sabbath-day, 

The  children  may  come  forth  to  pray. 

Farewell,  the  world !  Come — kiss  iny  lips  ! 
My  soul  grows  dark — 'tis  life's  eclipse. 


48  VOICES    FROM    THE   CROAVD. 

Husband,  farewell — I'm  going  hence — 
I  loved  thee — love  thee — parting  sense, 
Abide  ! — and  let  my  tongue  bestow, 
A  mother's  blessing  ere  I  go  ! — 
The  angels  call  me — lo,  I  come  ! 
Children,  I  die  !  I'm  going  home ! 


London,  1849. 


«L-^OvCi>r^^^i^^^:\^^^5^^ 


49 


FREEDOM  AND  LAW. 

"Wildest  wind  that  shakes  tlie  blossoms, 
Or  on  ocean  chafes  and  swells, 

Blows  not  uncontroll'd  and  wanton, 
But  as  Law  compels. 

Streams  that  wander  and  meander, 
Loitering  in  the  meads  to  play, 

Or  that  burst  in  roaring  torrents 
Into  foam  and  spray; 

Avalanches,  forest-crushing, 

Fires  that  rage  in  Etna's  breast, 

Lava-floods  and  tides  of  ocean — 
All  obey  the  same  behest. 

Law  releases,  Law  restrains  them : — 
Lo!  the  Moon,  her  forehead  bent 

Earthward,  makes  her  revolution, 
Docile,  beauteous,  and  content. 

Lo !  the  Earth,  her  mighty  mistress, 
In  her  own  appointed  place, 

Yields,  like  her,  sublime  obedience 
To  the  Law  that  governs  space. 

E 


50  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

And  the  godlike  Sun,  exhaling 
Light  and  Life  from  every  pore, 

On  his  axis,  law-directed, 
Wheels  majestic  evermore ; 

Bearing  with  him  to  Orion 

All  the  worlds  that  round  him  shine, 
To  complete  the  awful  cycle 

Of  a  destiny  divine. 

While  the  Stars  and  Constellations, 

Glowing  in  eternal  light, 
Teach  the  JVJajesty  of  Order, 

And  that  Law  is  Infinite. 


Is  the  immortal  spirit  freer, 
Mated  with  its  mortal  clod? 

Lo!  it  soars,  and,  faith-supported, 
Claims  affinity  with  God. 

Proudly  it  disdains  the  shackles 
Of  the  frame  to  which  it  clings, 

And  would  fly  to  heights  celestial 
Upon  Love's  angelic  wings. 

But  the  hand  of  Law  restrains  it; 

Narrow  is  the  widest  span, 
Measured  by  the  deeds  or  efforts 

Of  the  aspiring  soul  of  man. 


FREEDOM   AND    LAW.  51 

Like  the  imprison'd  lark,  that  carols 

To  salute  the  dawning  day, 
It  can  see  the  sky,  and  gather 

Hope  and  rapture  from  its  ray. 

It  can  see  the  waving  branches 

Of  its  long-lost  happy  bowers ; 
It  can  feel  the  heavenly  breezes, 

And  the  scent  of  meadow  flowers. 

» 

But  if  it  would  strive  to  reach  them, 

It  is  doom'd  to  fruitless  pain, 
And  with  bleeding  bosom  struggles 

At  its  prison-doors  in  vain. 

If  the  mind  be  less  entrammell'd, 
And  is  freed  from  sensual  bound; 

Still  the  Law  restrains  and  moulds  it, 
And  attracts  it  to  the  ground. 

Like  the  young  rejoicing  eaglet, 

Knowing  nought  of  gyves  and  bars. 

It  may  imp  its  virgin  pinions 
By  a  flight  towards  the  stars; — 

Hjgh  above  the  sterile  Andes, 

Or  the  Himalayan  snow. 
Breasting  ether,  robed  in  sunlight, 

Unimpeded  it  may  go. 
E  2 


52  VOICES  FROM   THE   CROWD. 

But  a  Law  has  placed  its  limits, 
And  to  pass  them  should  it  dare, 

Numbness  falls  upon  its  pinions, 
Death  o'ercanopies  the  air. 

Such  thy  fate,  terrestial  Spirit ! — 
Such  thy  freedom ; — thou  mayst  soar 

To  the  empyrean  summits, 

Where  no  mortal  breathed  before. 


But  Infinitude  surrounds  thee; 

Nature  stays  thee  in  thy  flight ; 
Thou  must  turn  thee,  or  be  stricken 

Powerless  on  thy  topmost  height. 

Thou  must  travel  lower,  lower, — 
JSTearer  to  the  earthly  mould — 

Safer  for  thee — there  to  fashion 
New  ideas  out  of  old. 


There  to  judge  of  the  unfathom'd, 
By  the  things  within  thy  ken, 

Of  the  ways  of  God  Eternal 
By  the  futile  ways  of  men. 

Yet,  oh  Soul!  there's  Freedom  for  thee; 

Thou  mayst  win  it; — not  below; — 
Not  on  earth  with  mortal  vesture, 

\Yhere  to  love,  to  feel,  to  know, 


FREEDOM   AND   LAW.  53 

Is  to  suffer;  but  unfetter'd, 

Thou  mayst  spring  to  riper  life, 

Purified  from  Hate  and  Evil, 
And  Mortality  and  Strife. 

Death  is  gaoler;  he'll  release  thee; 

Through  his  portals  thou  shalt  see 
The  perfection  that  awaits  thee, 

If  thou'rt  worthy  to  be  free. 

Be  thou  meek,  to  exaltation; — 

Death  shall  give  thee  wings  to  soar; 

Loving  God,  and  knowing  all  things, 
Upwards  springing  evermore! 


54:  VOICES   FEOM   THE   CROWD. 


TO  IMPATIENT  GENIUS. 

Painter,  that  with  soul-creations 
Wouldst  attain  th'  applause  of  nations. 
And  deserve  a  name  of  glory- 
To  be  writ  in  future  story, 

Work  thy  way. 
Live  with  Nature,  love  her  truly, 
Wisely,  wholly: — and  so  duly 

Bide  thy  day. 
With  high  thoughts  thy  mind  adorning^ 
Heed  no  critic's  shallow  scorning, 

"Nov  at  yelping  curs  repine  : 
Every  light  must  cast  a  shadow, 

So  must  thine. 

Sculptor,  with  ambition  glowing, 
Steep  thyself  to  overflowing 
In  the  majesty  and  greatness^ 
Strength,  and  beauty,  and  sedateness 

Of  th*  antique  : 
But  forget  not  living  Nature, 
Heavenly  in  its  form  and  feature. 

For  the  Greek. 
Beauty  is  renew'd  for  ever  : — 
Let  its  love  support  endeavour, 

Though  neglect  enwrap  thee  now— . 
Work  : — and  men  will  find  a  laurel 

For  thy  brow. 


TO   IMPATIENT   GENIUS.  55 

Poet,  singing  in  the  earnest 

Love  and  Hope  with  which  thou  burnest, 

And  upon  a  lofty  summit 

Sounding  Nature  with  the  plummet 

Of  thy  song, — 
Grieve  not  if  thy  voice  be  chidden, 
And  thy  tuneful  lustre  hidden 

Under  wrong. 
Scorn  not  Fame,  but  rise  above  it ; 
Truth  rewards  the  minds  that  love  it ; 
Like  the  planets  shine  and  sing ; — 
Noontide  follows  every  morning, — 

Summer,  spring. 

One  and  all,  be  up  and  doing; 
Glory  needs  incessant  wooing; 
And  if  Faith — not  mere  ambition — 
Prompts  you  to  a  noble  mission, 

You  shall  rise. 
But  the  acorn,  small  and  flower-like, 
Must  have  time  to  flourish  bower-like 

To  the  skies. 
Bide  you  yours  : — of  wealth  not  lustful ; 
Ever  patient,  calm,  and  trustful : 
Years  shall  magnify  your  bole, 
And  produce  immortal  foliage 

Of  the  soul. 


VOICES  FROM   THE  CEOWD. 


THE  GOLDEN  CIIT. 

1846. 

Weary  and  sickening  of  the  dull  debate 

And  clang  of  politics ;  weary  of  hate 

Toss'd  at  our  heads  from  o'er  the  Atlantic  main. 

With  foolish  speeches;  weary  of  the  pain 

And  sorrow,  and  calamity,  and  crime 

Of  daily  history  told  us  in  our  time ; 

Weary  of  wrong  that  rear  d  its  hydra  head 

And  hiss'd  from  all  its  mouths ;  dispirited 

With  rich  man's  apathy  to  poor  men's  hurt. 

And  poor  men's  ignorance  of  their  own  desert ; 

And  for  a  moment  hopeless  of  mankind 

And  that  great  cause,  the  nearest  to  my  mind. 

Progress — the  dream  of  poet  and  of  sage — 

I  lean'd  back  in  my  chair  and  dropp'd  the  page 

Diurnal,  fill'd  with  all  the  misery, 

And  fell  asleep;  if  sleeping  it  could  be 

When,  in  its  natural  sequence  in  the  brain, 

Thought  folio w'd  thought,  more  palpable  and  plain 

Than  when  I  waked ;  when  words  took  music's  voice^ 

And  all  my  being  inly  did  rejoice  3 


THE   GOLDEN   CITY. 


57 


And  what  I  saw,  I  sang  of  at  the  time, 

With  ease  unparallel'd  by  waking  rhyme, 

And  to  this  tune,  which,  many  a  day  since  then, 

A  haunting  music  has  come  back  again. 

Oh  the  golden  city. 

Shining  far  away! — 
With  its  domes  and  steeples  tall 
And  the  sunlight  over  all; 

With  the  waters  of  a  bay 
Rippling  gently  at  its  feet. 
Dotted  over  with  a  fleet ; 
Oh  the  golden  dty — so  beautiful  to  see  I 
It  shall  open  wide  its  portals, 

And  I'll  tell  you  if  it  be 
The  city  of  the  happy. 

The  city  of  the  free. 

Oh  the  glorious  city. 

Shining  far  away  ! — 
In  its  boundaries  every  man 
Makes  his  happiness  a  plan, 

That  he  studies  night  and  day, 
Till  he  thinks  it  not  alone. 
Like  his  property,  his  own — 
Oh  the  glorious  city — so  beautiful  to  see  ! — 
But  spreads  it  round  about  him, 

Till  all  are  bless'd  as  he ; 
His  mind  an  inward  sunshine, 

And  bright  eternally. 

Oh  the  splendid  city, 
Gleaming  far  away! — 


58  VOICES   FROM   THE    CROWD. 

Every  man,  by  Love  possess' d, 
Has  a  priest  within  his  breast, 

And,  whene'er  he  kneels  to  pray, 
Never  breathes  a  thought  unkind 
Against  men  of  other  mind  : 
Oh  the  glorious  city — so  beautiful  to  see  /- 
But  knows  that  God  Eternal 

"Will  shower  all  blessings  free 
On  hearts  that  live  to  love  Him, 

And  cling  to  Charity. 

Oh  the  gorgeous  city, 

Shining  far  away  ! — 
Where  a  Competence  is  bliss. 
And  each  man  that  lives  has  this 

For  his  labour  of  the  day; 
A  labour  not  too  hard. 
And  a  bountiful  reward  : 
Oh  the  glorious  city — so  beautiful  to  see  I- 
Where  mighty  wheels  creative 

E-evolve  incessantly, 
And  Science  gains  to  cheer  him 

A  daily  victory. 


Oh  the  glorious  city, 

Shining  far  away! — 
Neither  Misery  nor  Crime, 
Nor  the  wrongs  of  ancient  Time, 

Nor  the  Kingly  lust  of  sway 
Ever  come  within  its  wall. 
To  degrade  or  to  enthrall : 


THE   GOLDEN   CITY.  59 

Oh  the  glorious  city — so  beautiful  to  see  ! — 
But  Peace,  and  Love,  and  Knowledge, 

The  civilizing  Three, 
Still  prove  by  Good  that  has  been 

The  Better  that  may  be. 

Thus  dream'd  I,  to  this  rhythm,  or  something  near, 

But  far  more  copious,  musical,  and  clear; 

And  when  I  waken'd,  still  my  fancy  ran 

'Twas  not  all  dream,  and  that  large  Hopes  for  man 

Were  not  such  idle  visions  as  the  wise, 

In  days  like  ours,  should  heedlessly  despise  : 

I  thought  that  Love  might  be  Beligion  yet. 

Not  form  alone,  but  soul  and  substance  met; 

The  guide,  the  light,  the  glory  of  the  mind, 

Th'  electric  link  uniting  all  mankind ; 

That  if  men  loved,  and  made  their  Love  the  Law, 

All  else  would  follow — more  than  ever  saw 

Poet  or  Prophet  in  the  utmost  light 

Of  heavenly  glory  opening  on  his  sight. 

But  dream,  or  no  dream,  take  it  as  it  came  : 

It  gave  me  hope, — it  may  give  you  the  same. 

And  as  bright  Hopes  make  the  Intention  strong, 

Take  heart  with  me,  and  muse  upon  my  song. 


60  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


THE  DEPOSITION  OF  KING  CLOG. 

Xing  Clog  was  a  mighty  monarcli, 

He  sat  on  his  lofty  seat, 
With  his  golden  crown  and  his  ermine-down, 

And  his  courtiers  at  his  feet. 
His  power  seem'd  firm  as  the  mountains — 

Inert  but  strong  was  he  ; 
And  he  ruled  the  land  with  a  heavy  hand 

And  a  placid  tyranny. 
And  whenever  a  boon  was  ask'd  him, 

He  stared  with  a  calm  amaze. 
And  said,  "  Ye  foolish  people. 

Ye  must  stand  on  the  ancient  ways," 

And  long  o'er  the  suffering  nations 

King  Clog  and  his  courtiers  ruled, 
And  men  half-wise,  who  could  use  their  eyes, 

And  were  taught,  and  train'd,  and  school'd, 
Conceived  this  ponderous  monarch 

Was  bountiful,  wise,  and  good ; 
And  held  it  just  to  kneel  in  the  dust 

And  smear  him  with  gratitude. 
And  whenever  the  people  murmur'd, 

The  king  and  his  statesmen  frown'd, 
But  stoutly  refused  to  aid  them  ; — 

And  so  the  world  went  round. 


THE   BEPOSITIOIT   OP   KING   CLOG.  6L 

He  was  a  drowsy  monarch, 

They  were  a  drowsy  crew, 
And  from  hour  to  hour,  in  their  pride  of  power, 

Duller  and  drowsier  grew : 
But  a  cry  for  reformation. 

Which  rose  for  evermore, 
Disturb'd  their  sleep  with  its  mutterings  deep, 

And  stirr'd  them  to  the  core. 
"We  will  not  change,"  said  the  courtiers, 

"  For  change  is  ever  an  ill ; 
We'll  crush  these  restless  people, 

If  we  cannot  keep  them  still." 


But  Clog,  like  all  things  mortal, 

Decay 'd  as  he  grew  old. 
He  loved  to  dose,  in  warm  repose, 

High  on  his  throne  of  gold. 
And  the  people  saw  his  weakness, 

And  shouted  in  his  ear, 
"We've  groan'd  too  long  in  sorrow  and  wrong: 

Awake!  let  the  Eight  appear!" 
And  the  king,  with  eyes  half-open'd, 

A  lingering  answer  sent : 
"Let  me  alone,  ye  rabble — 

And  toil — and  be  content !" 


"We're  weary  of  our  bondage," 
Said  they  :  "  Oh,  king,  be  just ! — 

We  delve  and  spin,  but  cannot  win 
Our  raiment  and  our  crust  j 


a  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

"We  ask  no  boon  from  favour 

That  Justice  should  not  give  ; 
From  cradle  to  grave  we  groan  and  slave, 

And  die  that  we  may  live." 
But  Clog  replied,  hard-hearted, 

"  Your  sires  were  wise  as  you ; 
They  never  complain'd ; — poor  wretches, 

Ye  know  not  what  ye  do  !" 


But  still  the  people  clamour'd, 

And  the  cry  o'er  the  nations  spread — 
"Freedom  of  speech,  freedom  to  teach, 

Freedom  to  earn  our  bread  ; 
These  must  we  have,  O  monarch  ! 

Whether  you  will  or  no  ; — 
Too  long  we've  pined,  body  and  mind, 

In  ignorance  and  woe." 
"Let  me  alone,  I  pray  you," 

Said  Clog,  "  nor  vex  my  soul ; 
As  the  world  has  roll'd  for  ages. 

So  must  it  ever  roll." 


And  he  folded  his  arms  on  his  bosom, 

And  slept,  and  never  heard 
The  measured  beat  of  the  trampling  feet, 

And  the  oft-repeated  word 
That  came  from  the  solemn  conclave 

Of  the  people,  met  to  plan 
Some  better  laws,  to  aid  the  cause 

Of  the  happiness  of  man  : 


THE   DEPOSITION    OF   KING   CLOG.  63 

"Nor  the  voices  loud  resounding, 

Like  waves  upon  the  shore, 
That  proclaim'd  to  the  listening  nations 

That  Clog  should  rule  no  more. 

But  Jog,  the  next  successor, 

"Who  understood  his  time, 
Stepp'd  on  the  throne  : — "  Father,  begone  ; 

To  linger  is  a  crime. 
Go  to  thy  bed  and  slumber, 

And  leave  the  world  to  me  ; 
Thy  mission  's  done  ;  thy  race  is  run — 

I'm  ruler  of  the  free." 
So  Clog  retired,  obedient. 

And  Jog,  his  son,  was  crown*d. 
"We  hope  he'll  govern  better  : — 

And  so  the  world  goes  round. 


64  VOICES   FROM  THE   CROWD. 


STREET  COMPANIONS. 

"Whene'er  througli  Gray's  Inn  porcli  I  stray, 
I  meet  a  spirit  by  the  way ; 
He  wanders  with  me  all  alone, 
And  talks  with  me  in  under-tone. 


The  crowd  is  busy  seeking  gold, 
It  cannot  see  what  I  behold ; 
I  and  the  spirit  pass  along 
Unknown,  unnoticed,  in  the  throng. 

While  on  the  grass  the  children  run, 
And  maids  go  loitering  in  the  sun, 
I  roam  beneath  the  ancient  trees, 
And  talk  with  him  of  mysteries. 

The  dull  brick  houses  of  the  square. 

The  bustle  of  the  thoroughfare, 

The  sounds,  the  sights,  the  crush  of  men. 

Are  present  but  forgotten  then. 

I  see  them,  but  I  heed  them  not ; 
I  hear,  but  silence  clothes  the  spot; 
All  voices  die  upon  my  brain 
Except  that  spirit's  in  the  lane. 


STREET   COMPANIONS. 

He  breathes  to  me  his  burning  thought, 
He  utters  words  with  wisdom  frauglit, 
He  tells  me  truly  what  I  am — 
I  walk  with  mighty  Verulam. 

He  goes  with  me  through  crowded  ways, 
A  friend  and  mentor  in  the  maze, 
Through  Chancery  Lane  to  Lincoln's  Inn, 
To  Fleet  Street,  through  the  moil  and  din. 

I  meet  another  spirit  there, 
A  blind  old  man  with  forehead  fair, 
Who  ever  walks  the  right-hand  side. 
Toward  the  fountain  of  St.   Bride. 

Amid  the  peal  of  jangling  bells, 
Or  people's  roar  that  falls  and  swells. 
The  whirl  of  wheels  and  tramp  of  steeds, 
He  talks  to  me  of  noble  deeds. 

I  hear  his  voice  above  the  crush. 
As  to  and  fro  the  people  rush ; 
Benign  and  calm,  upon  his  face 
Sits  Melancholy,  robed  in  grace. 

He  hath  no  need  of  common  eyes, 
He  sees  the  fields  of  Paradise ; 
He  sees  and  pictures  unto  mine 
A  gorgeous  vision,  most  divine. 
F 


66  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

He  tells  the  story  of  the  Fall, 
He  names  the  fiec^"  in  battle-call, 
And  shows  my  soul,  in  wonder  dum]), 
Heaven,  Earth,  and  Pandemonium. 

He  tells  of  Lycidas  the  good. 
And  the  sweet  lady  in  the  wood, 
And  teaches  wisdom  high  and  holy, 
In  mirth  and  heavenly  melancholy. 

And  oftentimes,  with  courage  high, 
He  raises  Freedom's  rallying  cry ; 
And,  ancient  leader  of  the  van, 
Asserts  the  dignity  of  man — 

Asserts  the  rights  with  trumpet  tongue 
That  Justice  from  Oppression  wrung, 
And  poet,  patriot,  statesman,  sage. 
Guides  by  his  own  a  future  age. 

With  such  companions  at  my  side 
I  float  on  London's  human  tide ; 
An  atom  on  its  billows  thrown, 
But  lonely  never,  nor  alone. 


67 


THE  LTG^HT  IN  THE  WINDOW. 

Late  or  early  home  returning, 
In  the  starlight  or  the  rain, 
I  beheld  that  lonely  candle 
Shining  from  his  window-pane. 
Ever  o'er  his  tatter'd  curtain, 
Nightly  looking,  I  could  scan. 
Aye  inditing, 
Writing — writing, 
The  pale  figure  of  a  man ; 
Still  discern  behind  him  fall 
The  same  shadow  on  the  wall. 


Far  beyond  the  murky  midnight, 
By  dim  burning  of  my  oil, 
Filling  aye  his  rapid  leaflets, 
I  have  watch'd  him  at  his  toil ; 
Watch'd  his  broad  and  seamy  forehead, 
Watch'd  his  white  industrious  hand, 
F  2 


Q8  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROAVD. 

Ever  passing 

And  repassing ; 

Watch'd  and  strove  to  understand 

What  impeird  it — gold,  or  fame — 

Bread,  or  bubble  of  a  name. 


Oft  I've  ask'd,  debating  vainly 

In  the  silence  of  my  mind. 

What  the  services  he  rendered 

To  his  country  or  his  kind  ; 

Whether  tones  of  ancient  music, 

Or  the  sound  of  modern  gong. 

Wisdom  holy. 

Humours  lowly, 

Sermon,  essay,  novel,  song, 

Or  philosophy  sublime, 

Fiird  the  measure  of  his  time. 


No  one  sought  him,  no  one  knew  him, 

Undistinguish'd  was  his  name ; 

Never  had  his  praise  been  utter  d 

By  the  oracles  of  fame. 

Scanty  fare  and  decent  raiment, 

Humble  lodging,  and  a  fire — 

These  he  sought  for. 

These  he  wrought  for, 

And  he  gain'd  his  meek  desire; 

Teaching  men  by  written  word — 

Clinging  to  a  hope  deferr  d. 


THE   LIGHT   IN   THE   WINDOW.  69 

So  he  lived.     At  last  I  miss'd  him  ; 

Still  might  evening  twilight  fall, 

But  no  taper  lit  his  lattice — 

Lay  no  shadow  on  his  wall. 

In  the  winter  of  his  seasons, 

In  the  midnight  of  his  day, 

'Mid  his  writing, 

And  inditing, 

Death  had  beckon'd  him  away, 

Ere  the  sentence  he  had  plann'd 

Found  completion  at  his  hand. 


But  this  man,  so  old  and  nameless, 
Left  behind  him  projects  large, 
Schemes  of  progress  undeveloped, 
Worthy  of  a  nation's  charge ; 
Noble  fancies  uncompleted. 
Germs  of  beauty  im  matured. 
Only  needing 
Kindly  feeding 

To  have  flourish'd  and  endured; 
Meet  reward  in  golden  store 
To  have  lived  for  evermore. 


Who  shall  tell  what  schemes  majestic 
Perish  in  the  active  brain? 
What  humanity  is  robb'd  of, 
Ne'er  to  be  restored  again? 
AVhat  we  lose,  because  we  honour 


70  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

OverDiuch  the  mighty  dead, 

And  dispirit 

Living  merit, 

Heaping  scorn  upon  its  head? 

Or  perchance,  when  kinder  grown, 

Leaving  it  to  die — alone? 


-«-:5?^^5^G^S^:i».— 


71 


MARY  AND  LADY  MARY; 
OR, 

NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOURS. 

The  Lady  Mary's  placid  eyes 
Beam  with  no  hopes,  no  memories ; 
Beneath  their  Hds  no  tear-drops  flow, 
For  Love  or  Pity,  Joy  or  Woe. 
She  never  knows,  too  barren  she, 
The  fruitfulness  of  sympathy ; 
She  never  weeps  for  others'  pain, 
Or  smiles,  except  in  her  disdain. 

Her  face  is  pallid  as  the  pearl, 

Her  hair  is  sleek,  without  a  cnrl ; 

"With  finger-tip  she  condescends 

To  touch  the  fingers  of  her  friends, 

As  if  she  fear'd  their  palms  might  brand 

Some  moral  stigma  on  her  hand ; 

Her  pulse  is  calm,  milk-white  her  skin, 

She  hath  not  blood  enough  to  sin. 

A  very  pattern,  sage  and  staid, 
Of  all  her  sex — a  model  maid ; 
Clear  star — bright  paragon  of  men — 
She  breaks  no  law  of  all  the  ten ; 


72  VOICES    FROM    THE   CROWD. 

Pure  to  the  sight  as  snow-peak'd  hill- 
As  inaccessible  and  chill ; 
In  sunshine — but  repelling  heat — 
And  freezine:  in  her  own  conceit. 


If  ever  known  to  breathe  a  sigh. 
It  was  for  lack  of  flattery. 
Though  cold,  insensible,  and  dull, 
Admirers  call  her  beautiful ; 
She  sucks  their  incense,  breathes  it,  dotes 
On  her  own  praise,  that  gently  floats 
On  Fashion's  wave — and  lies  in  wait 
To  catch  admirers  of  her  state. 

In  published  charities  her  name 
Stands  foremost,  for  she  buys  her  fame ; 
At  church  men  see  her  thrice  a  week, 
In  spirit  proud,  in  aspect  meek ; 
Wearing  Devotion  like  a  mask, 
So  marble  cold,  that  sinners  ask. 
Beholding  her  at  Mercy's  throne, 
"Is  this  a  woman  or  a  stone?" 

But  diflerent,  far,  the  little  maid, 

That  dwells  unnoticed  in  the  shade 

Of  Lady  Mary's  pomp  and  power; 

A  Mary,  too,  a  simple  flower, 

With  face  all  health,  with  cheeks  all  smile, 

Undarken'd  by  one  cloud  of  guile ; 

And  ruddy  lips  that  seem  to  say, 

"Come,  kiss  me,  children,  while  ye  may." 


MAKY   AND    LADY   MARY.  73 

A  cordial  hand,  a  chubby  arm, 
And  hazel  eyes,  large,  soft,  and  warm  ; 
Dark  hair  in  curls,  a  snow-like  bust, 
A  look  all  innocence  and  trust. 
Lit  up  at  times  by  sunny  mirth, 
Like  summer  smiling  on  the  earth ; 
A  ringing  laugh,  whose  every  note 
Bursts  in  clear  music  from  her  throat. 

A  painter's  daughter — poor,  perchance, 

But  rich  in  native  elegance  ; 

God  bless  the  maid — she  may  not  be 

Without  some  touch  of  vanity. 

She  twines  red  rosebuds  in  her  hair, 

And  smiles  to  know  herself  so  fair ; 

And  quite  believes,  like  other  belles. 

The  pleasant  tale  her  mirror  tells. 

A  very  woman,  full  of  tears, 
Hopes,  blushes,  tendernesses,  fearvS, 
Griefs,  laughter,  kindness,  joys  and  sighs, 
Loves,  likings,  friendships,  sympathies; 
A  heart  to  feel  for  every  woe, 
And  pity,  if  not  dole,  bestow ; 
A  hand  to  give  from  scanty  store, 
A  look  to  wish  the  offering  more. 


In  artless  faith  and  virtue  strong. 
Too  loving  to  do  Love  a  wrong ; 
She  takes  delight  in  simple  things, 
And  in  the  sunshine  works  and  sings. 


74  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Sweet  bird  !  so  meekly  innocent, 
The  foulest  hawk  that  ever  rent 
A  trusting  heart,  would  gaze,  and  flj, 
And  spare  her  in  her  purity. 

Take  Lady  Mary  ye  who  will, 
Her  woods,  her  castle  on  the  hill, 
Her  lands  o'er  half  a  county  spread — 
And  wither  in  her  loveless  bed  ; 
But  give  me  Mary,  frank  and  free, 
Her  beauty,  grace,  and  modesty  : 
I  pass  My  Lady  in  the  mart — 
I  take  the  Wnman  with  the  heart. 


75 


ABOVE  AND  BELOW. 

Mighty  river,  oh,  miglity  river, 

E oiling  in  ebb  and  flow  for  ever, 

Through  the  city  so  vast  and  old ; 

Through  massive  bridges — by  domes  and  spires, 

Crown'd  with  the  smoke  of  a  myriad  fires  ; — 

City  of  majesty,  power,  and  gold  ; — 

Thou  lovest  to  float  on  thy  waters  dull 

The  white-wing'd  fleets  so  beautiful, 

And  the  lordly  steamers  speeding  along, 

Wind  defying,  and  swift  and  strong  ; 

Thou  bearest  them  all  on  thy  motherly  breast, 

Laden  with  riches,  at  Trade's  behest — 

Bounteous  Trade,  whose  wine  and  corn 

Stock  the  garner  and  fill  the  horn  ; 

Who  gives  us  Luxury,  Joy,  and  Pleasure, 

Stintless,  sumless,  out  of  measure — 

Thou  art  a  rich  and  a  mighty  river, 

Kolling  in  ebb  and  flow  for  ever. 

Doleful  river,  oh,  doleful  river, 

Pale  on  thy  breast  the  moonbeams  quiver. 

Through  the  city  so  drear  and  cold — 

City  of  sorrows  hard  to  bear, 

Of  guilt,  injustice,  and  despair — • 

City  of  miseries  untold  ; — 


76  VOICES    FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Thou  hidest  below,  in  thy  treacherous  waters, 
The  death-cold  forms  of  Beauty's  daughters  ; 
The  corses  pale  of  the  young  and  sad — 
Of  the  old  whom  sorrow  has  goaded  mad — 
Mothers  of  babes  that  cannot  know 
The  sires  that  left  them  to  their  woe — 
Women  forlorn,  and  men  that  run 
The  race  of  passion,  and  die  undone  ; 
Thou  takest  them  all  to  thy  careless  wave. 
Thou  givest  them  all  a  ready  grave  ; 
Thou  art  a  black  and,  a  doleful  river, 
Rolling  in  ebb  and  flow  for  ever. 

In  ebb  and  flow  for  ever  and  ever — 

So  rolls  the  world,  thou  murky  river  ! 

So  rolls  the  tide,  above  and  below: 

Above,  the  rower  impels  his  boat  ; 

Below,  with  the  current  the  dead  men  float  ! — 

The  waves  may  smile  in  the  sunny  glow, 

While  above,  in  the  glitter,  and  pomp,  and  glare, 

The  flags  of  the  vessels  flap  the  air  ; 

But  below,  in  the  silent  under-tide. 

The  waters  vomit  the  wretch  that  died. 

Above,  the  sound  of  the  music  swells, 

From  the  passing  ship,  from  the  city  bells  ; 

From  below  there  cometh  a  gurgling  breathy 

As  the  desperate  diver  yields  to  death  : 

Above  and  below  the  waters  go. 

Bearing  their  burden  of  Joy  or  Woe  ; 

Rolling  along,  thou  mighty  river, 

In  ebb  and  flow  for  ever  and  ever  ! 


77 


JOHN  LITTLEJOHN. 

John  Little john  was  stanch  and  strong, 
Upright  and  downright,  scorning  wrong ; 
He  gave  good  weight,  and  paid  his  way, 
He  thought  for  himself,  and  he  said  his  say. 
Whenever  a  rascal  strove  to  pass, 
Instead  of  silver,  money  of  brass. 
He  took  his  hammer,  and  said,  with  a  frown, 
"  The  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  downr 

John  Littlejohn  was  firm  and  true, 
You  could  not  cheat  him  in  "two  and  two;" 
When  foolish  arguers,  might  and  main, 
Darken'd  and  twisted  the  clear  and  plain, 
He  saw  through  the  mazes  of  their  speech 
The  simple  truth  beyond  their  reach  ; 
And  crushing  their  logic,  said,  with  a  frown, 
"  Your  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  down'^ 

John  Littlejohn  maintain'd  the  Right, 
Through  storm  and  shine,  in  the  world's  despite' 
When  fools  or  quacks  desired  his  vote. 
Dosed  him  with  arguments,  learn'd  by  rote, 


78  VOICES   FROM    THE   CROWD. 

Or  by  coaxing,  threats,  or  promise,  tried 
To  gain  liis  support  to  the  wrongful  side, 
"  Nay^  nay  I'  said  John,  with  an  angry  frown, 
"  Your  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  down^ 

When  told  that  kings  had  a  right  divine, 
And  that  the  people  were  herds  of  swine, 
That  the  rich  alone  were  fit  to  rule, 
That  the  poor  were  unimproved  by  school, 
That  ceaseless  toil  was  the  proper  fate 
Of  all  but  the  wealthy  and  the  great, 
John  shook  his  head,  and  swore,  with  a  frown, 
"  The  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  down^ 

When  told  that  events  might  justify 

A  false  and  crooked  policy. 

That  a  decent  hope  of  future  good 

Might  excuse  departure  from  rectitude. 

That  a  lie,  if  white,  was  a  small  offence. 

To  be  forgiven  by  men  of  sense, 

^^  Nay,  nay^^  said  John,  with  a  sigh  and  frown, 

"  The  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  down,^^ 

When  told  from  the  pulpit  or  the  press 
That  Heaven  was  a  place  of  exclusiveness, 
That  none  but  those  could  enter  there 
Who  knelt  with  the  '*  orthodox "  at  prayer, 
And  held  all  virtues  out  of  their  pale 
As  idle  works  of  no  avail, 

John's  face  grew  dark,  as  he  swore,  with  a  frown, 
"  The  coin  is  spurious,  nail  it  doumJ' 


JOHN   LITTLEJOHN.  70 

Whenever  the  world  our  eyes  would  blind 

With  false  pretences  of  such  a  kind, 

With  humbug,  cant,  and  bigotry. 

Or  a  specious,  sham  philosophy, 

With  wrong  dress'd  up  in  the  guise  of  right, 

And  darkness  passing  itself  for  light, 

Let  us  imitate  John,  and  exclaim,  with  a  frown, 

"  The  coins  are  spurious,  nail  them  down^ 


80  VOICES    FilOM    THE   CROWD. 


THE  POOR  MAN'S  BIRD. 

A  YEAR  ago  I  had  a  cliild, 
A  little  daughter  fair  and  mild ; 
More  precious  than  my  life  to  me, 
She  sleeps  beneath  the  churchyard  tree. 
Oh  1  she  was  good  as  she  was  fair, 
Her  presence  was  like  balmy  air ; 
She  was  a  radiance  in  my  room, 
She  was  sunlight  in  my  gloom. 

She  loved  thee  well,  thou  little  bird, 
Her  voice  and  thine  were  ever  heard  ; 
They  roused  me  when  the  morning  shone, 
But   now  I  hear  thy  voice  alone. 
She  call'd  me  gently  to  her  side. 
Gave  me  her  bird,  and,  smiling,  died. 
Thou  wert  her  last  bequest  to  me ; 
I  loved  her  fondly — I  love  thee. 

'Tis  true,  I  often  think  it  hard, 
Sweet  lark,  to  keep  thee  here  imbarr'd, 
Whilst  thou  art  singing  all  day  long, 
As  if  the  fields  inspired  thy  song, 


THK   lOOR   man's*  BlJiD 


THE   POOR    man's   BIRD.  81 

As  if  the  flowers,  the  woods,  the  streams, 
Were  present  in  thy  waking  dreams ; 
But  yet,  how  can  I  let  thee  fly? 
What  couldst  thou  do  with  liberty? 

What  couldst  thou  do  ? — Alas,  for  me  ! 
What  should  /  do  if  wanting  thee, 
Sole  relic  of  my  Lucy  dear  ? 
There  needs  no  talk — thou'rt  prisoner  here. 
But  I  will  make  thy  durance  sweet, 
I'll  bring  thee  turf  to  cool  thy  feet ; 
Fresh  turf,  with  daisies  tipp'd  in  pink, 
And  water  from  the  well  to  drink. 

I  need   thee.     Were  it  not  to  choose, 
Ere  sunshine  dry  the  morning  dews. 
Thy  fresh  green  turf,  I  should  not  stray 
Out  to  the  fields  the  live-long  day ; 
I  should  be  captive  to  the  town. 
And  waste  my  life  in  alleys  brown ; 
Thy  wants  impel  me  to  the  sward, 
And  Nature's  face  is  my  reward. 

Sweet  bird,  thou  waken  est  by  thy  song 
Bright  memories  and  affections  strong ; 
At  sight  of  thee  I  dream  of  flowers, 
And  running  streams,  and  branching  bowers ; 
But  most  of  her  whose  little  face 
Was  luminous  with  love  and  grace ; 
Thou  art  a  link  I  may  not  break — 
I  love  thee  for  my  Lucy's  sake. 


S2  VOICES  FROM   THE   CROWD,, 


UNKNOWN  EOMANCES. 


Oft  have  T  wander'd  when  the  first  faint  light 

Of  morning  shone  upon  the  steeple-vanes 
Of  sleeping  London,  through  the  silent  night. 

Musing  on  memories  of  joys  and  pains ; — 
And  looking  down  long  vistas  of  dim  lanes 

And   shadowy  streets,  one  after  other  spread 
In  endless  coil,  have  thought  what  hopes  now  dead 

Once  bloom'd  in  every  house,  what  tearful  rains 
Women  have  wept,  for  husband,  sire,  or  son; 

What  love  and  sorrow  ran  their  course  in  each^ 
And  what  great  silent  tragedies  were  done ; — 

And  wish'd  the  dumb  and  secret  walls  had  speech. 
That  they  might  whisper  to  me,  one  by  one, 

The  sad  true  lessons  that  their  walls  might  teach. 

II. 

Close  and  forgetful  witnesses,  they  hide, 

In  nuptial  chamber,  attic,  or  saloon, 
Many  a  legend  sad  of  desolate  bride, 

And  mournful  mother,  blighted  all  too  soon; 
Of  strong  men's  agony,  despair,  and  pride, 

And  mental  glory  darken'd  ere  its  noon. 


UNKNOWN  ROMANCES.  83 

But  let  the  legends  perish  in  their  place, 

For  well  I  know  where'er  these  walls  have  seen 
Humanity's  upturn'd  and  heavenly  face, 

That  there  has  virtue,  there  has  courage  been; — 
That  e'en  'mid  passions  foul,  and  vices  base, 

Some  ray  of  goodness  interposed  between. 
Ye  voiceless  houses,  ever  as  I  gaze, 

This  moral  flashes  from  your  walls  serene. 


oO^H^O*^ 


84  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 


THE    FLOATING    STRAW. 

A  THOUGHT  IN  THE  PANIC,    1847. 

The  wild  waves  are  my  nightly  pillows, 

Beneath  me  roll  the  Atlantic  billows ; 

And  as  I  rest  on  my  couch  of  brine, 

I  watch  the  eternal  planets  shine. 

Ever  I  ride 

On  a  harmless  tide, 

Fearing  nought — enjoying  all  things — 

TJndistuib'd  by  great  or  small  things. 

Alas !  for  the  lordly  vessel 

That  sails  so  gallantly  ! 

The  winds  may  dash  it, 

The  storms  may  wash  it, 

The  lightnings  rend  its  tall  masts  three  j 

But  neither  the  wind,  nor  the  rain,  nor  the  sea, 

Can  injure  me — can  injure  me  ! 

The  lightnings  cannot  strike  me  down. 

Whirlwinds  wreck,  or  whirlpools  drown ; 

And  the  ship  to  be  lost  ere  the  break  of  morn, 

May  pass  o'er  my  head  in  saucy  scorn ; 


THE   FLOATING  STRAW.  85" 

And  when  the  Nighfc  unveils  its  face, 
I  may  float,  unharm'd,  in  my  usual  jDlace, 
And  the  ship  may  show  to  the  pitying  stars 
No  remnant  but  her  broken  spars. 

Among  the  shells 
In  the  ocean  dells 

The  ships,  the  crews,  and  the  captains  lie; 
But  the  floating  straw  looks  up  to  the  sky. 
And  the  humble  and  contented  man, 
Unknown  to  Fortune,  escapes  her  ban, 
And  rides  secure  when  breakers  leap. 
And  mighty  ships  go  down  to  the  deep. 

May  pleasant  breezes  waft  them  home 
That  plough  with  their  keels  the  driving  foam! 
Heaven  be  their  hope,  and  Truth  their  law ; — 
There  needs  no  prayer  for  the  floating  straw! 


tf-*>va.^54&^^r«s^^ 


86  VOICES  FROM  THE   CROWD. 


A  QUESTION  ANSWEEED. 

"What  to  do  to  make  thy  fame 
Live  beyond  thee  in  the  tomb? 

And  thine  honourable  name 

Shine,  a  star,  through  History's  gloom? 


Seize  the  Spirit  of  thy  Time, 
Take  the  measure  of  his  height. 

Look  into  his  eyes  sublime, 

And  imbue  thee  with  their  light. 


Know  his  words  e'er  they  are  spoken, 
And  with  utterance  loud  and  clear. 

Firm,  persuasive,  and  unbroken. 
Breathe  them  in  the  people's  ear. 


Think  whate'er  the  spirit  thinks. 
Feel  thyself,  whate'er  he  feels, 

Drink  at  fountains  where  he  drinks. 
And  reveal  what  he  reveals. 


A   QUESTION   ANSWERED.  87 

And  whate'er  thy  medium  be, 

Canvas,  stone,  or  printed  sheet, 
Fiction,  or  philosophy. 

Or  a  ballad  for  the  street ; 


Or,  perchance,  with  passion  fraught. 
Spoken  words,  like  lightnings  thrown, 

Tell  the  people  all  thy  thought. 

And  the  world  shall  be  thine  own! 


^^ 


8S  VOICES   FROM  THE  CllOWD. 


WHAT  MIGHT  BE  DONE. 

What  might  be  done  if  men  were  wise — 
What  glorious  deeds,  my  suffering  brother, 

Would  they  unite, 

In  love  and  right, 
And  cease  their  scorn  for  one  another  1 

Oppression's  heart  might  be  imbued 

With  kindling  drops  of  loving- kindness, 

And  Knowledge  pour, 

From  shore  to  shore, 
Light  on  the  eyes  of  mental  blindness. 

All  slavery,  warfare,  lies,  and  wrongs. 
All  vice  and  crime  might  die  together; 

And  wiue  and  corn. 

To  each  man  born, 
Be  free  as  warmth  in  summer  weather. 

The  meanest  wretch  that  ever  trod. 
The  deepest  sunk  in  guilt  and  sorrow, 

Might  stand  erect, 

In  self-respect. 
And  share  the  teeming  world  to-morrow 


WHAT   MIGHT   BE   DONE.  89 

"What  miglit  be  done?     This  might  be  done, 
And  more  than  this,  my  suffering  brother — 

More  than  the  tongue 

Ever  said  or  sung, 
If  men  were  wise  and  loved  each  other. 


-'-s'iti^^^Hs^s^i^.^s^^'^-- 


90  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWl 


THE  MOWERS. 

AN  ANTICIPATION   OF   THE   CHOLERA,    1848. 

Dense  on  the  stream  the  vapours  lay, 
Thick  as  wool  on  the  cold  highway  ; 
Spongy  and  dim,  each  lonely  lamp 
Shone  o'er  the  streets  so  dull  and  damp  ; 
The  moonbeam  could  not  pierce  the  cloud 
That  swathed  the  city  like  a  shroud. 
There  stood  three  Shapes  on  the  bridge  alone, 
Three  figures  by  the  coping-stone  ; 
Gaunt,  and  tall,  and  undefined, 
Spectres  built  of  mist  and  wind  ; 
Changing  ever  in  form  and  height, 
But  black  and  palpable  to  sight. 

"This  is  a  city  fair  to  see," 
Whisper'd  one  of  the  fearful  three  ; 
"A  mighty  tribute  it  pays  to  me. 
Into  its  river,  windiog  slow, 

Thick  and  foul  from  shore  to  shore. 
The  vessels  come,  the  vessels  go, 

And  teeming  lands  their  riches  pour 


THE   MOWERS.  91 

It  spreads  beneath  the  murky  sky 
A  wilderness  of  masonry ; 
Huge,  unshapely,  overgrown, 
Dingy  brick  and  blacken'd  stone. 
Mammon  is  its  chief  and  lord, 
Monarch  slavishly  adored; 
Mammon  sitting  side  by  side 
With  Pomp,  and  Luxury,  and  Pride  j 
Who  calls  his  large  dominion  theirs, 
Nor  dream  a  portion  is  Despairs. 


"Countless  thousands  bend  to  me 

In  rags  and  purple,  in  hovel  and  hall. 

And  pay  the  tax  of  Misery 

With  tears,  and  blood,  and  spoken  gall. 

Whenever  they  cry 

For  aid  to  die, 

I  give  them  courage  to  dare  the  worst. 

And  leave  their  ban  on  a  world  accursed. 

I  show  them  the  river  so  black  and  deep, 

They  take  the  plunge,  they  sink  to  sleep ; 

I  show  them  poison,  I  show  them  rope, 

They  rush  to  death  without  a  hope. 

Poison,  and  rope,  and  pistol-ball. 

Welcome  either,  welcome  all ! 

I  am  the  lord  of  the  teeming  town — 

/  mow  them  down,  I  mow  them  down  /" 


"  Ay,  thou  art  great,  but  greater  I," 
The  second  spectre  made  reply  ; 


92  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

"  Thou  rulest  with  a  frown  austere. 
Thy  name  is  synonym  of  Fear. 
But  I,  despotic  and  hard  as  thou, 
Have  a  laughing  lip,  an  open  brow. 
I  build  a  temple  in  every  lane, 

I  have  a  palace  in  every  street ; 
And    the    victims     throng     to    the    doors 
amain, 

And  wallow  like  swine  beneath  my  feet. 
To  me  the  strong  man  gives  his  health, 
The     wise     man     reason,     the     rich     man 

wealth  ; 
Maids  their  virtue,  youth  its  charms. 
And  mothers  the  children  in  their  arms. 
Thou  art  a  slayer  of  mortal  men — 
Thou  of  the  unit,  I  of  the  ten ; 
Great  thou  art,  but  greater  I, 
To  decimate  humanity. 
'Tis  /  am  the  lord  of  the  teeming  town — 
/  mow  them  down,  I  mow  them  down  I" 


"Yain  boasters  to  exult  at  death," 

The  third  replied,  "  so  feebly  done  ; 
I  ope  my  jaws,  and  with  a  breath 

Slay  thousands  while  you  think  of  one. 
All  the  blood  that  Caesar  spill' d, 

All  that  Alexander  drew. 
All  the  hosts  by  'glory'  kill'd. 

From  Agin  court  to  Waterloo, 
Compared  with  those  whom  I  have  slain, 
Are  but  a  river  to  the  main. 


THE   MOWERS.  93 

"  I  brew  disease  in  stagnant  pools, 

And  wandering  here,  disporting  there, 

Favour'd  much  by  knaves  and  fools, 
I  poison  streams,  I  taint  the  air ; 

I  shake  from  my  locks  the  spreading  Pest, 

I  keep  the  Typhus  at  my  behest  j 

In  filth  and  slime 

I  crawl,  I  climb ; — 

I  find  the  workman  at  his  trade, 

I  blow  on  his  lips,  and  down  he  lies  ; 

I  look  in  the  face  of  the  ruddiest  maid, 
And  straight  the  fire  forsakes  her  eyes — 
She  droops,  she  sickens,  and  she  dies; 

I  stint  the  growth  of  babes  new-born, 

Or  shear  them  off  like  standing  corn ; 

I  rob  the  sunshine  of  its  glow, 

I  poison  all  the  winds  that  blow ; 

Whenever  they  pass,  they  suck  ray  breath, 

And  freight  their  wings  with  certain  death. 

'Tis  /  am  the  lord  of  the  crowded  town — 

/  nuyw  them  dowUj  I  mow  them  down  ! 


"But  great  as  we  are,  there  cometh  one 
Greater  than  you — greater  than  I, 

To  aid  the  deeds  that  shall  be  done, 

To  end  the  work  that  we've  begun, 
And  thin  this  thick  humanity. 

I  see  his  footmarks  east  and  west, 
I  hear  his  tread  in  the  silence  fall, 

He  shall  not  sleep,  he  shall  not  rest- 
He  comes  to  aid  us  one  and  all ' 


94  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Were  men  as  wise  as  men  might  be, 

They  would  not  work  for  you,  for  me, 

For  him  that  cometh  over  the  sea; 

But  they  will  not  heed  the  warning  voice. 

The  Cholera  comes,  rejoice  !  rejoice  ! 

He  shall  be  lord  of  the  swarming  town. 

And  mow  them  domri,,  and  mow  them  down  /" 


95 


SAID  I  TO  MYSELF,  SAID  I. 

I'm  poor  and  quite  unknown, 

I  have  neither  fame  nor  rank ; 
My  labour  is  all  I  own, 

I  have  no  gold  at  the  bank; 
I'm  one  of  the  common  crowd, 

Despised  of  the  passers-by, 
Contemn'd  of  the  rich  and  proud — 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  I. 

I  want,  and  I  cannot  obtain, 

The  luxuries  of  the  earth; 
My  raiment  is  scant  and  plain. 

And  I  live  in  the  fear  of  dearth; 
While  others  can  laugh  or  sing, 

I  have  ever  some  cause  to  sigh; 
I'm  a  weary  wanderling — 

Said  I  to  myself  J  said  I, 


But  is  this  grieving  just  ? 

Is  it  wise  to  fret  and  wail] 
Is  it  right,  thou  speck  of  dust, 

Thine  envy  should  prevail? 


96  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Is  it  fitting  thou  shouldst  close 
Thy  sight  to  the  sunny  sky, 

And  an  utter  dark  suppose*? 
Said  I  to  myself,  said  I, 

If  poor,  thou  hast  thy  health  ; 

If  humble,  thou  art  strong ; 
And  the  lark,  that  knows  not  wealth, 

Ever  sings  a  happy  song. 
The  flowers  rejoice  in  the  air. 

And  give  thy  needs  the  lie; — 
Thou'rt  a  fool  to  foster  care, 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  I. 

If  the  wants  of  thy  pride  be  great, 

The  needs  of  thy  health  are  small, 
And  the  world  is  the  man's  estate 

Who  can  wisely  enjoy  it  all. 
For  him  is  the  landscape  spread, 

For  him  do  the  breezes  ply. 
For   him  is  the  day-beam  shed^— 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  I, 

For  him  are  the  oceans  rolVd, 

For  him  do  the  rivers  run, 
For  him  doth  the  year  unfold 

Her  bounties  to  the  sun ; 
For  him,  if  his  heart  be  pure, 

Shall  common  things  supply 
All  pleasures  that  endure — 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  L 


SAID   I   TO   MYSELF,    SAID   I.  97 

For  him  each  blade  of  grass 

Waves  pleasure  as  it  grows; 
For  him,  as  the  light  clouds  pass, 

A  spirit  of  beauty  flows  j 
For  him,  as  the  streamlets  leap, 

Or  the  winds  on  the  tree-tops  sigh, 
Comes  a  music  sweet  and  deep — 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  I, 

ISTor  of  earth  are  his  joys  alone, 

How  mean  soever  his  state — 
On  him  from  the  starry  zone 

His  ministering  angels  wait ; 
With  him  in  voiceless  thought 

They  hold  communion  high; 
By  them  are  his  fancies  fraught— 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  L 

I  will  mould  my  life  afresh, 

I  will  circumscribe  desire ; 
Farewell  to  ye,  griefs  of  flesh ! 

And  let  my  soul  aspire. 
I  will  make  my  wishes  few. 

That  my  joys  may  multiply; 
Adieu,  false  wants,  adieu!— 

Said  I  to  myself,  said  L 


98  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD 


AN  APPEAL  TO  PARIS. 

1847. 

Beautiful  Paris !  morning  star  of  nations ! 

The  Lucifer  of  cities,  lifting  high 

The  beacon  blaze  of  young  democracy ! 

Medina  and  Gomorrha  both  in  one — 

Medina  of  a  high  and  holy  creed 

To  be  developed  in  a  coming  time ! 

Gomorrha,  rampant  with  all  vice  and  guilt — 

Luxurious,  godless,  grovelling,  soaring  Paris, 

Laden  with  intellect,  and  yet  not  wise — 

Metropolis  of  satire  and  lampoon, 

Of  wit,  of  elegance,  of  mirth,  of  song, 

And  fearful  tragedies  done  day  by  day, 

Which  put  our  hair,  on  end  in  the  open  streets — 

The  busy  hive  of  awful  memories. 

The  potent  arbiter  of  popular  will, 

The  great  electric  centre  whence  the  shocks 

Of  pulsing  freedom  vibrate  through  the  world — 

Beautiful  Paris!  sacred  to  our  hearts. 

With  all  thy  folly,  all  thy  wickedness — 

If  but  for  Bailly,  Yergniaud,  Gensonne, 

And  noblest  Roland,  she  of  Roman  soul. 

And  the  great  patriots  and  friends  of  man 

Who  went  to  death  for  holy  liberty — 


AN   APPEAL    TO   PARIS.  99 

Lift  up  thy  voice,  O  Paris!  once  again, 
And  speak  the  thought  that  labours  in  thy  breast; 
Shake  off  thy  gauds  and  tinsels — be  thyself; 
Cease  thy  lewd  jests,  and  heartless  revelries, 
Thy  adoration  of  all  worthless  things, 
Thy  scorn,  thy  sarcasm,  and  thy  unbelief; 
And  in  the  conflict  and  the  march  of  men 
Do  justice  to  thy  nature,  and  complete 
The  glorious  work,  so  gloriously  begun 
By  the  great  souls  of  pregnant  eighty-nine. 
Gome  forth,  oh,  Paris!  freed  from  vice  and  stain, 
Like  a  young  warrior  dallying  too  long 
With  loving  women,  wasting  precious  hours 
In  base  delights  and  enervating  sloth ; 
Who,  when  he  shakes  them  off,  puts  back  his  hair 
From  his  broad  brow,  and  places  on  his  head 
The  plumed  helmet — throws  his  velvets  off, 
And  swathes  his  vigorous  limbs  in  glancing  steely 
To  lead  true  hearts  to  struggle  for  mankind. 
Or  if  no  more,  Soldier  of  Liberty! 
Thou  'It  lead  the  nations — stand  upon  the  hill, 
And,  like  a  prophet,  preach  a  holy  creed 
Of  freedom,  progress,  peace,  and  happiness ; 
And  all  the  world  shall  listen  to  thy  voice, 
And  Tyranny,  hyaena  big  with  young, 
Dreadirg  the  sound,  shall  farrow  in  affright, 
And  drop,  still-born,  her  sanguinary  cubs. 
And  many  a  bloody  feud  be  spared  mankind. 
Poland  again,  with  desperate  grasp,  shall  seize 
The  neck  of  her  enslaver,  and  extort 
Full  justice  from  his  terror ;  Hungary, 
Firmined  and  crown' d,  shall  sit  in  her  own  seat 
H  2 


100  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

In  peaceful  state  and  sober  majesty; 

And  Italy,  unloosening  her  bonds 

By  her  strong  will,  shall  be  at  last  the  hom^ 

Of  broadly  based  and  virtuous  liberty, 

And  in  her  bosom  nurture  evermore. 

Not  the  fierce  virtues  of  her  Roman  youth. 

But  the  calm  blessings  of  her  later  time — 

Science,  and  art,  and  civilizing  trade, 

Divine  philosophy,  diviner  song. 

And  true  religion  reconciled  with  man. 

Speak  out;  O  Paris !  purify  thyself 
By  noble  thoughts,  and  deeds  will  follow  them. 
The  world  has  need  of  thee.     Humanity 
Droops  for  thy  dalliance  with  degraded  things, 
Alien,  and  most  unworthy  of  the  soul 
That  sleeps  within  thee.     Bouse  thyself,  0  Paris  ! 
The  time  expects  thee.     Pyrenees,  and  Alps, 
And  Appenines,  and  snow-clad  Balkans,  wait, 
With  all  their  echoes,  to  repeat  the  words 
Which  thou  must  utter  !     Thou  hast  slumber'd  long — 
Long  dallied.     Speak  !     The  world  will  answer  thee  ! 


101 


THOUGHTS. 

True  tliotiglits,  your  days  of  grief  are  done, 
No  more  shall  scorn  or  hate  impede  you ; — 
Born  in  the  light,  where'er  the  sun 
Shines  on  mankind,  mankind  shall  heed  you* 

So  grow,  ye  grains  of  mustard-seed, 

Grow  each  into  a  tree ; 

And  kindle,  sparks,  to  beal-fires  bright. 

That  all  the  earth  may  see ; 

And  spread,  ye  thoughts  of  Truth  and  Right, 

O'er  all  humanity ! 

Time  was,  when  thoughts  bore  tears  and  death 
To  the  wise  few  that  dared  to  raise  them ; 
Time  is,  when  thoughts  are  living  breath, 
And  the  world's  throbbing  heart  obeys  them- 

So  grow,  ye  grains  of  mustard-seed, 

Grow  each  into  a  tree ; 

And  kindle,  sparks,  to  beal-fires  bright, 

That  all  the  earth  may  see ; 

And  spread,  ye  workers  for  the  Eight, 

Onwards  eternally  1 


102  VOICES   FHOM   THE   CROWD. 


CLEON  AND  I. 

Cleon  Lath  a  million  acres, 

Ne'er  a  one  have  I ; 
Cleon  dwelleth  in  a  palace. 

In  a  cottage  I ; 
Cleon  hath  a  dozen  fortunes, 

Not  a  penny  I : 
Yet  the  poorer  of  the  twain  i» 

Cleon,  and  not  I. 

Cleon,  true,  possesseth  acres. 

But  the  landscape  I ; 
Half  the  charms  to  me  it  yieldetb 

Money  cannot  buy ; 
Cleon  harbours  •  sloth  and  dulness. 

Freshening  vigour  I  ; 
He  in  velvet,  I  in  fustian — 

Eicher  man  am  L 

Cleon  is  a  slave  to  grandeur. 

Free  as  thought  am  I ; 
Cleon  fees  a  score  of  doctors, 

Need  of  none  have  I; 


CLEON    AND    I.  103 

Wealtli-siirrounded,  care-environ' d, 

Cleon  fears  to  die ; 
Death  may  come,  he'll  find  me  ready ; — 

Happier  man  am  I. 

Cleon  sees  no  charms  in  Nature, 

In  a  daisy  I ; 
Cleon  hears  no  anthems  singing 

In  the  sea  and  sky ; 
Nature  sings  to  me  for  ever, 

Earnest  listener  I ; 
State  for  state,  with  all  attendants, 

Who  would  change  1     Not  I. 


104  VOICES  FKOM   THE  CKOWD. 


THE  PHANTOMS  OF  ST.  SEPULCHRE. 

[It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  nnacqnainted 
with  London,  that  the  church  of  St.  Sepulchre  is  close  to  the 
gaol  of  Newgate,  and  that  its  bell  is  tolled  when  a  criminal  is 
to  be  executed.  Few  will  need  to  be  reminded  that  the  three 
stories  related  are  not  fabulous.] 

"Didst  ever  see  a  hanging'?" — "No,  not  one, 

Nor  ever  wish  to  see  such  scandal  done. 

But  once  I  saw  a  wretch  condemn'd  to  die  : 

A  lean-faced,  bright-eyed  youth,  who  made  me  sigh 

At  the  recital  of  a  dream  he  had. 

He  was  not  sane,  and  yet  he  was  not  mad  : 

Fit  subject  for  a  mesmerist  he  seem'd  ; 

For  when  he  slept,  he  saw ;  and  when  he  dream  <4 

His  visions  were  as  palpable  to  him 

As  facts  to  us.     My  memory  is  dim 

Upon  his  story,  but  I'll  ne'er  forget 

The  dream  he  told  me,  for  it  haunts  me  yet, 

Impress'd  upon  me  by  his  earnest  faith 

That  'twas  no  vision,  but  a  sight  which  Death 


THE   PHA15T0MS   OF   ST.    SEPULCHRE.  105 

Open'd  his  eyes  to  see, — an  actual  glimpse 
Into  the  world  of  spectres  and  of  imps 
Youclisafed  to  him  on  threshold  of  the  grave. 
List !  and  111  give  it  in  the  words  he  gave  : — 

" '  Ay,  you  may  think  that  I  am  crazed, 

But  what  I  saw,  that  did  I  see. 

These  walls  are  thick,  my  brain  is  sick, 

And  yet  mine  eyes  saw  lucidly. 

Through  the  joists  and  through  the  stones 

I  could  look  as  through  a  glass  : 

And,  from  this  dungeon  damp  and  cold, 

I  watch'd  the  motley  people  pass. 

All  day  long,  rapid  and  strong, 

RoU'd  to  and  fro  the  living  stream  ; 

But  in  the  night  I  saw  a  sight — 

I  cannot  think  it  was  a  dream. 

" '  Old  St.  Sepulchre's  bell  will  toll 

At  eight  to-morrow  for  my  soul ; 

And  thousands,  not  much  better  thaii  I, 

Will  throng  around  to  see  me  die ; 

And  many  will  bless  their  happy  fate 

That  they  ne'er  fell  from  their  high  estate, 

Or  did  such  deed  as  I  have  done  ; 

Though,  from  the  rise  to  the  set  of  sun. 

They  cheat  their  neighbours  all  their  days, 

And  gather  gold  in  slimy  ways. 

But  my  soul  feels  strong,  and  my  sight  grows  clear, 

As  my  death-hour  approaches  near, 

And  in  its  presence  I  will  tell 

The  very  truth,  as  it  befell. 


106  VOICES   FROM   THE    CROWD. 

"  ^  The  snow  lies  thick  on  the  house-tops  cold, 

Shrill  and  keen  the  March  winds  blow  ; 

The  rank  grass  of  the  churchyard  mould 

Is  cover'd  o'er  with  drifted  snow ; 

The  graves  in  old  St.  Sepulchre's  yard 

Were  white  last  night  when  I  look'd  forth, 

And  the  sharp  clear  stars  seem'd  to  dance  in  the  sky, 

Kock'd  by  the  fierce  winds  of  the  north. 

"'The  houses  dull  seem'd  numb  with  frost. 

The  streets  seem'd  wider  than  of  yore, 

And  the  straggling  passengers  trod,  like  ghosts. 

Silently  on  the   pathway  frore ; 

When  I  look'd  through  that  churchyard  rail, 

And  thought  of  the  bell  that  should  ring  my  doom, 

And  saw  three  women,  sad  and  pale, 

Sitting  together  on  a  tomb. 

" '  A  fearful  sight  it  was  to  see, 

As  up  they  rose  and  look'd  at  me. 

Sunken  were  their  cheeks  and  eyes ; 

Blue-cold  were  their  feet,  and  bare ; 

Lean  and  yv3l]ow  were  their  hands ; 

Long  and  scanty  was  their  hair  ; 

And  round  their  necks  I  saw  the  ropes 

Deftly  knotted,  tightly  drawn  ; 

And  knew  they  were  not  things  of  earth, 

Or  creatures  that  could  face  the  dawn. 

"'Seen  dimly  in  the  uncertain  light. 
They  multiplied  upon  my  sight ; 
And  things  like  men  and  women  sprung- 
Shapes  of  those  who  had  been  hung — 


THE   PHANTOMS   OF   ST.    SEPULCHRE,  107 

From  the  rank  and  clammy  ground. 

I  counted  them — I  knew  them  all, 

Each  with  its  rope  around  its  neck, 

Marsh all'd  hj  the  churchyard  wall. 

The  stiff  policeman,  passing  along, 

Saw  them  not,  nor  made  delay ; 

A  reeling  bacchanal,  shouting  a  song, 

Look'd  at  the  clock  and  went  his  way  ; 

A  troop  of  girls  with  painted  cheeks. 

Laughing  and  yelling  in  drunken  glee, 

Pass'd  like  a  gust,  and  never  look'd 

At  the  sight  so  palpable  to  me. 

I  saw  them — heard  them — felt  their  breath 

Musty  and  raw  and  damp  as  death  ! 

" '  These  women  three,  these  fearful  shapes, 

Look'd  at  me  through  Newgate  stone. 

And  raised  their  fingers,  skinny  and  lank^ 

Whispering  low  in  under-tone  : — 

'  His  hour  draws  near, — he 's  one  of  us, — 

His  gibbet  is  built, — his  noose  is  tied  ; 

They  have  put  his  name  on  the  coffin-lid  : 

The  law  of  blood  shall  be  satisfied. 

He  shall  rest  with  us,  and  his  name  shall  be 

A  by-word  and  a  mockery.' 

"'I  whisper'd  to  one,  *What  hast  thou  done  T 
She  answer'd,  whispering,  and  I  heard — 
Although  a  chime  rans:  at  the  time — 
Every  sentence,  every  word, 
Clear  above  the  pealing  bells  : — 
*  I  was  mad,  and  slew  my  child  ; 


108  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Better  than  life,  God  knows,  I  loved  it; 

But  pain,  and  hunger  drove  me  wild, 

Scorn  and  hunger,  and  grief  and  care  ; 

And  I  slew  it  in  my  despair. 

And  for  this  deed  they  raised  the  gibbet ; 

For  this  deed  the  noose  they  tied  ; 

And  I  hung  and  swung  in  the  sight  of  men, 

And  the  law  of  blood  was  satisfied.' 


"'I  said  to  the  second,  'What  didst  thouT 

Her  keen  eyes  flash'd  unearthly  shine. 

*I  married  a  youth  when  I  was  young. 

And  thought  all  happiness  was  mine ; 

But  they  stole  him  from  me  to  fight  the  French ; 

And  I  was  left  in  the  world  alone. 

To  beg  or  steal,  to  live  or  die, 

Bobb'd  of  my  stay,  my  all,  my  own. 

England  stole  my  lord  from  me, — 

I  stole  a  ribbon,  was  caught  and  tried ; 

And  I  hung  and  swung  in  the  sight  of  men, 

And  the  law  of  blood  was  satisfied.' 


"'I  said  to  the  third,  'What  crime  was  thine?' 

'  Crime  ! '  she  answer'd,  in  accents  meek, 

'  The  babe  that  sucks  at  its  mother's  breast, 

And  smiles  with  its  little  dimpled  cheek. 

Is  not  more  innocent  than  I. 

But  truth  was  feeble,- 

And  guiltless  of  a  deed  of  shame. 

Men's  justice  did  me  cruel  wrong. 


THE   PHANTOMS   OF   ST.    SEPULCHRE.  109 

They  would  not  hear  my  truthful  words  : 
They  thought  me  fiU'd  with  stubborn  pride ; 
And  I  hung  and  swung  in  the  sight  of  men, 
And  the  law  of  blood  was  satisfied.' 

"*Then  one  and  all,  by  that  churchyard  wall, 

Raised  their  skinny  hands  at  me  ; 

Their  voices  mingling  like  the  sound 

Of  rustling  leaves  in  a  withering  tree  : 

*His  hour  has  come,  he's  one  of  us; 

His  gibbet  is  built,  his  noose  is  tied  ; 

His  knell  shall  ring,  and  his  corpse  shall  swing. 

And  the  law  of  blood  shall  be  satisfied.' 

"'They  vanish'd !     I  saw  them,  one  by  one. 

With  their  bare  blue  feet  on  the  drifted  snow 

Sink  like  a  thaw,  when  the  sun  is  up, 

To  their  wormy  solitudes  below. 

Though  you  may  deem  this  was  a  dream, 

My  facts  are  tangible  facts  to  me ; 

For  the  sight  glows  clear  as  death  draws  near 

And  looks  into  futurity.'" 


110  VOICES    FROM   THE   CEO  WD. 


THE  LITTLE  MOLES. 

When  grasping  tyranny  offends, 

Or  angry  bigots  frown ; 
When  rulers  plot,  for  selfish  ends, 

To  keep  the  nations  down  ; 
When  statesmen  form  unholy  league 

To  drive  the  world  to  war ; 
When  knaves  in  palaces  intrigue 

For  ribbons  or  a  star — 
We  raise  our  heads,  survey  their  deeds. 

And  cheerily  reply, 
Gruh^  little  moles,  grub  under  ground^ 

There^s  sunshine  in  the  shy. 

When  canting  hypocrites  combine 

To  curb  a  free  man's  thought, 
And  hold  all  doctrine  undivine 

That  holds  their  canting  nought ; 
When  round  their  narrow  pale  they  plod, 

And  scornfully  assume 
That  all  without  are  cursed  of  God, 

And  justify  the  doom, — 
We  think  of  God's  eternal  love, 

And  strong  in  hope  reply, 
Gruh,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground, 

There's  sunshi7ie  in  the  sky. 


THE   LITTLE   MOLES.  Ill 

When  greedy  authors  wield  the  pen 

To  please  the  vulgar  town, 
Depict  great  thieves  as  injured  men 

And  heroes  of  renown ; 
Pander  to  prejudice  unclean, 

Apologize  for  crime, 
And  daub  the  vices  of  the  mean 

With  flattery  like  slime ; 
For  Milton's  craft,  for  Shakspere's  tongue 

We  blush,  but  yet  reply — 
Grub,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground, 

TJiere^s  sunshine  in  the  sky. 


When  smug  philosophers  survey 

The  various  climes  of  earth, 
And  mourn,  poor  sagelings  of  a  day  ! 

Its  too  prolific  birth; 
And  prove  by  figure,  rule,  and  plan, 

The  large  fair  world  too  small 
To  feed  the  multitudes  of  man 

That  flourish  on  its  ball ; 
We  view  the  vineyards  on  the  hills, 

Or  corn-fields  waving  high  ; — 
Grub,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground, 

There'^s  sunshine  in  the  sky. 


When  men  complain  of  humankind 

In  misanthropic  mood. 
And  thinking  evil  things,  grow  blind 

To  presence  of  the  good ; 


112  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

When,  wall'd  in  prejudices  strong, 

They  urge  that  evermore 
The  world  is  fated  to  go  wrong 

For  going  wrong  before, — 
We  feel  the  truths  they  cannot  feel, 

And  smile  as  we  reply, 
Gruh,  little  moles,  grub  under  ground^ 

There'' s  sunshine  in  the  shy. 


c-^£-^?a'*5^D*<SU-» 


113 


LET  US  ALONE. 

Many — and  yet  our  fate  is  one, 

And  little  after  all  we  crave — 
Enjoyment  of  the  common  sun, 

Fair  passage  to  the  common  grave; 
Our  bread  and  fire,  our  plain  attire, 

The  free  possession  of  our  own. 
Bulers  be  wise !  and  kings  and  czars, 

Let  us  alone — lei  us  alone. 

We  have  a  faith,  we  have  a  law; 

A  faith  in  God,  a  hope  in  man ; 
And  own,  with  reverence  and  awe, 

Love  universal  as  His  plan. 
To  Charity  we  bow  the  knee, 

The  earth's  refiner  and  our  own. 
Bigots,  and  fighters  about  words, 

Let  us  alone — let  us  alone. 

The  world  is  the  abode  of  men, 

And  not  of  demons  stark  and  blind ; 

And  Eden's  self  might  bloom  again. 
If  men  did  justice  to  mankind. 

I 


114  VOICES   FROM  THE   CROWD. 

We  want  no  more  of  Nature's  store, 
Than  Nature  meant  to  be  our  own. 

Masters  and  gerents  of  the  earth, 
Let  us  alone — let  us  alone. 

Your  meddling  brought  us  grief  and  care, 

And  added  misery  day  by  day; 
We're  not  so  foolish  as  we  were, 

Nor  fashion'd  of  such  ductile  clay; 
Your  petty  jars,  your  wicked  wars. 

Have  lost  their  charm,  the  gilding  *s  gone : 
Victorious  marshals,  vaulting  kings, 

Let  us  alone — lei  us  alone. 

Though  dwellers  in  a  little  isle. 

We  bear  no  hate  to  other  lands. 
And  think  that  Peace  on  earth  might  smile 

If  we  and  others  join'd  our  hands. 
In  Reason's  spite  why  should  we  fight  ? 

We'll  war  no  more — we're  wiser  grown. 
Quibblers  and  stirrers  up  of  hate. 

Let  us  alone — let  us  alone. 

White  man  or  black,  to  us  alike; 

Foemen  of  no  men  we  will  live, 
We  will  not  lift  our  hands  to  strike. 

Or  evil  for  advantage  give. 
Our  hands  are  free  to  earn  their  fee. 

Our  tongues  to  let  the  truth  be  known; 
So  despots,  knaves,  and  foes  of  right, 

Let  us  alone — let  us  alone. 


LET    US   ALONE.  115 

Great  are  our  destinies :  our  task, 

Long  since  begun,  shall  never  end 
While  suffering  has  a  boon  to  ask. 

Or  truth  needs  spokesmen  to  defend; 
While  vice  or  crime  pollute  the  time, 

While  nations  bleed,  or  patriots  groan. 
Rulers  be  wise  !  and  meddling  fools, 

Let  us  alone — let  us  alone. 


ooc>^iS!^Xi>'^3*^^ 


116  VOICES   FROM   THE  CROWD. 


ETERNAL  JUSTICE. 

The  man  is  thought  a  knave,  or  fool. 

Or  bigot,  plotting  crime, 
Who,  for  the  advancement  of  his  kind. 

Is  wiser  than  his  time. 
For  him  the  hemlock  shall  distil; 

For  him  the  axe  be  bared ; 
For  him  the  gibbet  shall  be  built; 

For  him  the  stake  prepared. 
Him  shall  the  scorn  and  wrath  of  men 

Pursue  with  deadly  aim ; 
And  malice,  envy,  spite,  and  lies, 

Shall  desecrate  his  name. 
But  Truth  shall  conquer  at  the  last. 

For  round  and  round  we  run ; 
And  ever  the  E-ight  comes  uppermost, 

And  ever  is  Justice  done. 

Pace  through  thy  cell,  old  Socrates, 
Cheerily  to  and  fro; 


ETERNAL  JUSTICE.  117 

Trust  to  the  impulse  of  thy  soul, 

And  let  the  poison  flow. 
They  may  shatter  to  earth  the  lamp  of  clay 

That  holds  a  light  divine, 
But  they  cannot  quench  the  fire  of  thought 

By  any  such  deadly  wine. 
They  cannot  blot  thy  spoken  words 

From  the  memory  of  man 
By  all  the  poison  ever  was  brew'd 

Since  time  its  course  began. 
To-day  abhorr'd,  to-morrow  adored, 

So  round  and  round  we  run; 
And  ever  the  Truth  comes  uppermost^ 

And  ever  is  Justice  done. 


Plod  in  thy  cave  grey  anchorite; 

Be  wiser  than  thy  peers; 
Augment  the  range  of  human  power. 

And  trust  to  coming  years. 
They  may  call  thee  wizard,  and  monk  accursed, 

And  load  thee  with  dispraise ; 
Thou  wert  born  five  hundred  years  too  soon 

For  the  comfort  of  thy  days ; 
But  not  too  soon  for  humankind. 

Time  hath  reward  in  store; 
And  the  demons  of  our  sires  become 

The  saints  that  we  adore. 
The  blind  can  see,  the  slave  is  lord. 

So  round  and  round  we  run  ; 
And  ever  the  wrong  is  proved  to  be  wrong, 

And  ever  is  Justice  done. 


118  VOICES   FROM   THE   CROWD. 

Keep,  Galileo,  to  tliy  thought, 

And  nerve  thy  soul  to  bear ; 
They  may   gloat    o'er   the   senseless   words   they 
wring 

From  the  pangs  of  thy  despair ; 
They  may  veil  their  eyes,  but  they  cannot  hide 

The  sun's  meridian  glow ; 
The  heel  of  a  priest  may  tread  thee  down, 

And  a  tyrant  work  thee  woe  ; 
But  never  a  truth  has  been  destroy'd; 

They  may  curse  it  and  call  it  crime  ; 
Pervert  and  betray,  or  slander  and  slay, 

Its  teachers  for  a  time ; 
But  the  sunshine  aye  shall  light  the  sky. 

As  round  and  round  we  run  ; 
And  the  Truth  shall  ever  come  uppermost, 

And  Justice  shall  be  done. 


And  live  there  now  such  men  as  these — 

With  thoughts  like  the  great  of  old? 
Many  have  died  in  their  misery, 

And  left  their  thought  untold; 
And  many  live,  and  are  rank'd  as  mad, 

And  placed  in  the  cold  world's  ban, 
For  sending  their  bright  far-seeing  souls 

Three  centuries  in  the  van. 
They  toil  in  penury  and  griei^ 

Unknown,  if  not  malign'd ; 
Forlorn,  forlorn,  hearing  the  scorn 

Of  the  meanest  of  mankind! 


/ 

ETERNAL   JUSTICE.  119 

jfeut  yet  the  world  goes  round  and  round, 

And  the  genial  seasons  run  ; 
And  ever  the  Truth  comes  uppermost, 

And  ever  is  Justice  done. 


THE  END. 


PRINTED    B7   COX   AND   WYMAN,   GREAT  QVEKN   8TRKKT,   LONDON. 


/^ 


